


Whatever You Make It to Be

by one_of_those_crushing_scenes



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Mockingbird (Comic), West Coast Avengers
Genre: Also a little bit of A Wrinkle in Time, Background Sam Wilson/Steve Rogers - Freeform, Dating Bet, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, High School AU, Howling Commandos as School Teachers and Administrators, Inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You, Marijuana, Marvel Bang 2018, POV Bobbi Morse, POV Clint Barton, Recreational Drug Use, Sensory Processing Disorder, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 11:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 53,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16366655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_of_those_crushing_scenes/pseuds/one_of_those_crushing_scenes
Summary: Bobbi Morse is a socially awkward genius who’s never really found her place in the high school hierarchy. Clint Barton is the new kid from the wrong side of the tracks. When he agrees to help out with his brother’s part-time job, he somehow gets himself mixed up in a convoluted dating bet/fake dating situation with Bobbi. Their friends get roped into the adventure, but with the end of high school approaching, they have their own issues and personal lives to deal with. When these young adults take a look at themselves in the mirror, how will they react to what they see?





	1. First Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Marvel Bang 2018 event. Thank you so much to [stars_inthe_sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_inthe_sky) for your beta work and to everyone who helped me refine the story and encouraged me along the way. Title is a lyric from Satana and Michelle Branch’s [Game of Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKLnmMacEB4).
> 
> Artwork is by the lovely [aukibs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aukibs).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the first day of the last year of high school for our main characters.

\--

On the first day of senior year, Bobbi Morse showed up a full ten minutes early to her first-period AP Biology class. 

This was for two reasons: One, she was genuinely excited about the class and couldn't wait to start, and two, she needed to grab her preferred seat. She was early enough that the door to the lab was still locked, and she had to wait another two or three minutes before her teacher showed up and opened up the room. Dr. Calvin, who had been Bobbi’s favorite teacher in tenth grade when she’d been in her chemistry class, chuckled as she walked up and saw Bobbi waiting.

“You know I’m not going to start teaching until the bell rings, no matter what time you show up,” Dr. Calvin said as she pushed the door into place so that it would stay open.

“That’s okay,” Bobbi responded. “I’m just here to smell the formaldehyde.”

Dr. Calvin laughed. Bobbi followed her into the room and turned the lights on, then hurried over to the desk she wanted: first row, so that she would be able to focus without distractions, but all the way in the corner, so that the entire class's eyes wouldn't be on her.

She set her notebook and pen down on the desk, then turned to her teacher. “Dr. Calvin? Did you get a chance to think about the independent study project we spoke about before the summer?”

Dr. Calvin looked up from her briefcase and opened her mouth to answer, but just then, the door opened, and two of Bobbi’s classmates came inside, claiming seats in the second row.

“Stop by the teacher’s lounge at the end of the day, okay?” Dr. Calvin said to Bobbi. “We’ll figure it out.”

The students trickled in, slowly at first, and then in greater frequency the closer they got to the morning bell, a perfect real-life example of a left-skewed distribution curve. The chatter in the classroom grew louder and louder until the bell rang, at which point most people settled into their seats.

Dr. Calvin gave a quick five-minute introduction, then handed out assignments and instructed the class to break up into partners for lab work. A buzz of negotiation filled the room as students found partners, but Bobbi stayed in her seat, having arranged hers in advance. Unfortunately, said lab partner still hadn’t shown up to class yet.

This wasn't too unusual. Hank had a habit of working in the library or the computer lab in between classes, then getting too caught up in whatever he was doing and missing the bell. He often sheepishly turned up for class at the very end of attendance—or later. Bobbi found an empty lab table and started to read through the assignment while she waited. It was a simple assignment, fitting for the first day of school: they were instructed to take samples of the different types of food laid out on the table and use the various devices available to calculate how many calories per gram each contained.

Bobbi started making a chart in her notebook to record the measurements. When she finished with that, she stared at the clock a bit more. The later it got, the more she started to suspect that it wasn't just the library delaying her lab partner today. Surely the librarian would have kicked him out by now if that were the case. She gave the door one final glance, then picked up the scalpel knife on the tray and started to cut a piece of cucumber.

Finally, fifteen minutes late, Hank walked into the classroom and plopped himself down on the stool across the table from her, his eyes bloodshot and his blond hair sticking up every which way. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and croaked out, “Kill me now.”

Bobbi passed him the sheet of paper with their assignment, and he took it with shaky fingers. “What the hell happened to you?” she demanded in an undertone.

“Tony snuck a bottle of whiskey in yesterday,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “You got drunk at your own mother’s wedding? Wow, Hank.”

“Trust me, no one was paying attention.” Hank reached towards the floor for his backpack, leaning over so far that the seat of his pants balanced precariously at the lab stool’s edge, and then came back up with a water bottle. He took a swig and then placed it on the table. “So, what’s the assignment?”

Before Bobbi could say anything, Dr. Calvin had crossed the room in a split second and was standing behind him. “Hank Pym!” she said sharply, causing Hank to flinch and cover his ears. Bobbi and Hank looked up together at their teacher, who continued, “Quick question, Mr. Pym—do we or do we not allow eating and drinking in the lab?”

Hank turned, looking sheepish as he lowered his hands to the table. “We do not.”

“Very good.” She pointed to his water bottle, which he promptly put back into his backpack. “You know, usually, one would ensure that one got a full night’s sleep before the first day of school.”

“Extenuating circumstances, Dr. Calvin,” Bobbi piped up. “His mom got married yesterday.”

The three of them looked across the room to Janet Van Dyne, Hank’s new stepsister, who looked fresh as a daisy. Janet was working on her assignment with her friend and lab partner, Sam Wilson, her lips moving a thousand words a minute.

“And yet,” Dr. Calvin continued, her point made with a single look. “Get some rest tonight, Hank. You don’t want to start out your senior year on the wrong foot.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hank said dryly.

Dr. Calvin walked on to the next group, and Bobbi handed Hank a crucible with the cucumber she’d sliced. “Measure this, please.”

\--

“Anthony Edward Stark!”

Bobbi set her tray down in front of Tony, who turned from watching the track team captains set up for tryouts and looked up at her and Hank.

Without saying anything, Hank sat down at the picnic table next to Tony, putting his head down on top of folded arms and closing his eyes. “Take a look at your handiwork,” she continued, pointing her thumb toward Hank. “How is it that you’re perfectly healthy and hale over here while this poor guy looks like he just finished throwing up and is about to throw up again?”

Hank gave her a sarcastic thumbs-up without opening his eyes. “Thanks, Bobbi, just what I needed to hear.”

As Bobbi sat down and started eating, Tony looked Hank over, his eyebrows narrowing in concern as he took in his white pallor and sweat-damp hair. “Oh, shit. Do you have a hangover?”

“Little bit.” Hank pinched together his thumb and forefinger, finally opening his eyes to squint at Tony in the sunlight.

Tony smacked his forehead. “Oh, no. I’m sorry.” To Bobbi, he added, “I didn’t realize he would have so much.”

“Same amount as you,” Hank protested unenthusiastically, dragging himself up to a sitting position. He picked up the apple that was the single item of food he’d taken for lunch, taking an unenthusiastic bite.

“Yeah, but I’m used to it,” Tony responded.

Bobbi frowned. “Well, that’s kind of worrying.”

“Although,” Tony continued, ignoring Bobbi’s concern and speaking to Hank, “now that you’re living in the Van Dyne mansion, maybe you’ll have more opportunities to acclimate. Any chance we finally see you make an appearance at one of Jan’s famous parties?”

“Ha. Don’t count on it.” Hank snorted and shook his head. “Of all the people in the world my mom had to go and fall for. Three years of putting as much distance as possible between me the party scene, and now I’m going to be living in _that_ house. Fuck me.”

At the table next to them, Jennifer Walters, a close friend of Janet’s, somehow overheard. She turned her head towards them and gave Hank a look of pure disdain. “As if we were breaking down your door, trying to get you to hang out with us,” she said.

“Aw, c’mon, Jen,” Tony said. “He didn’t mean it like that.”

It always amazed Bobbi the way that Tony was able to float between cliques so easily, as if the high school morass was his own personal playground and he was just as much at home in any corner of it. His closest friends ranged from Steve Rogers, the school’s varsity football captain (also, famously, his ex); Janet Van Dyne, queen of the party crowd; and Hank, who’d been in some summer robotics program with him a few years ago. Yet somehow, he made it all work.

Bobbi, on the other hand, had been in school with most of the same people for over a decade, and for most of them, she was just the weird, quiet daughter of Robert Morse, that guy they’d heard about on the news. Hank and her other friend, Greer Grant, were the very best friends she could ask for, and she was even starting to feel comfortable around Tony. Around anyone else her age, though, her tongue cramped up and she had a hard time managing even small talk. And while Janet’s parties actually sounded like they could potentially be fun, she could never see herself actually attending. She and Tony weren’t quite close enough for her to impose like that, and she didn’t want to be a drag on him.

Jennifer made an annoyed face but turned back to her friends and picked up her fork.

Crisis averted, Tony changed the subject. “So, did you hear about the fracas that Greer started in third-period English?”

Hank perked up. “What happened?”

“We were having a discussion on the summer reading,” Tony said, “and she said, and I quote, ‘There are two types of girls: those who have at least a tiny part inside of them that secretly admires Miss Havisham, and liars.’ It was chaos, and it was amazing.”

Bobbi smiled, proud of her best friend. Greer and chaos went together hand-in-hand, and the results were always brilliant.

Ever the multitasker, Tony was already changing the subject back to Hank’s health. “Alka seltzer, water, ginger ale. Tomato juice, if you have it. No coffee. And keep up the fruit.”

“You’re seventeen years old, Tony—why do you know so much about hangover cures?” Hank said, but he took another bite of the apple as instructed.

“Never mind why,” Tony replied, leaning over the table to clap Hank on the shoulder. “Just trust me.”

Bobbi shook her head. “Oh boy.”

 

\--

As he pushed the double doors of his new high school open and walked outside into the sunshine, Clint Barton felt the tightness in his chest loosen. He’d gotten through his first day without incident, managing to get to every class on time without needing to ask for directions. 

Okay, so barely anyone had even looked in his direction, except for his teachers, while taking attendance, but it was only the first day. And, yeah, he hadn’t quite understood everything all of his teachers had said, but it made sense for him to be a little behind, right? He’d catch up soon enough. His teachers at his old schools had always told him that he was bright, and, given the right environment, he had potential to do well. Well, now he was in the right environment, so he _had_ to do well. Otherwise, it would have all been for nothing.

He caught sight of his brother’s car, a boxy silver Dodge that was older than he was. Barney had pulled into the parking lot, but hadn’t parked, and he was currently pulling forward to get closer to Clint, while at the same time blocking Clint’s English teacher from getting into her car. Ms. Ralston was gesticulating at Barney in an annoyed fashion, and Clint felt the urge to hide until she was gone. Still, it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to leave the parking lot before Barney did, so Clint walked over, turning his face to the side and praying that his teacher wouldn’t recognize him. He opened the passenger door and slid into the car, keeping his head ducked.

Barney flipped down the sun visor. “Come on, buckle up. I gotta get out of here before that lady gives me detention.”

“Funny.” Clint fastened his seatbelt quickly, and Barney took off, not bothering to slow down for the speed bump at the parking lot’s exit. “Jesus, Barney!”

“Oh, come on.” Barney glanced at him, then looked back at the road. “So?”

Clint shrugged. “It’s school. It was fine.”

The rest of the trip passed in silence aside from the sound of the wind whipping through the windows. The air conditioner in this car had been busted as long as Barney had owned it, only ever blowing warm air from the vents, so the windows were kept down by default between May and September.

When they arrived home, Barney pulled into a non-parking spot next to their building and nodded at Clint. “Go on. I’ve gotta get to work.”

“Thanks for the ride.” Clint grabbed his backpack and left the car, walking up the block and into the building, taking the steps two at a time until he reached their apartment. The door had two locks, one in the middle of the knob like he was used to, and one up top at eye level, and he unlocked them both and went inside, dropping his backpack on the floor by the door and heading to the kitchen.

This place was an entirely different experience than the house he’d lived in growing up, and smaller and shabbier than the mobile home where they’d moved from, but it was a fresh start, and that was what was important. He didn’t have a reputation here as a troublemaker, and none of the teachers had any reason to think of him as an unmotivated deadbeat. As long as he didn’t give them one.

When had lunch been? It didn’t matter; he knew that there was leftover tuna casserole in the fridge, and he cut a piece out and put it in the microwave. After he pressed the start button, the light came on and the buzzing sound of the microwave started—but within five seconds, it all went out, including the kitchen lights. _Shit._

Clint opened the microwave to take a look, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother appear in the kitchen doorway. She looked at him and shook her head. “Clint? Oh, honey, did you try to run the microwave?”

“Yeah.”

She pointed to the living room. “The air conditioner was on, sweetie. Didn’t you notice?”

He hadn’t, actually. “Sorry. I forgot to check.”

This type of thing hadn’t happened in the trailer park. Sure, the house had flooded multiple times a year, and they often needed to choose between fresh air and shouted arguments or loud sex at all hours of the night, but on a daily basis, the utilities and infrastructure had just _worked_. He’d never had to worry about remembering which appliances ran on which circuits or what could be used at the same time as what.

“It’s all right. We’ll get used to it,” his mother said. “Can you get the breaker? I’ll turn off the A.C. so you can heat this up.”

“Sure.” He went into the building hallway, opened up the circuit breaker panel, and flipped the switch. As he walked back into the apartment, he could see his mother turning the dial on the air conditioner.

She looked up at him and gave him a smile and a thumbs-up. “You’re good to go.”

“Thanks.” He started the microwave again, then walked into the living room to wait for it to finish.

“How was school?” his mother asked.

“Great, mom.” That was a bit of an overstatement, but after everything she’d put herself through to get them to this point, he was damned if he was going to show anything less than full enthusiasm about it.

“Good. See, I told you the move would be worth it. This is a great school district.” She walked over and gave him a hug. “Oh, this is going to be so good for you.”

The microwave dinged, and Clint went to retrieve his snack, getting out a fork and bringing it to the coffee table to eat.

“We’re going to get you into college yet,” his mother said. “You’re such a smart boy; you always have been. Teaching yourself how to read at four, inventing all those codes and alphabets with your brother...now that you don’t have any distractions, you’re going to just flourish. You’ll see.”


	2. Blown Off Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes get settled in at school, and Clint makes a surprising discovery at home.

Bobbi opened her bedroom door, and she and Greer dropped their backpacks on the floor as they went in. Bobbi kicked off her shoes as Greer flopped down backward on Bobbi’s bed, letting her long, curly hair fan out behind her across the bedspread.

“I wish I could sleep for a month straight,” Greer said. “Isn’t senior year supposed to be easy? I already have three essays due next week, and it’s only the third day of school.”

Bobbi pulled her desk chair over to the foot of the bed and sat down, propping her feet up on the bed. “I’m pretty sure no one told you to double-book your class schedule like that.”

“It’s not double-booked. Do I look like I have a Time Turner? It’s just a little...stuffed.”

“A turkey schedule,” Bobbi said.

“I was thinking more of a suitcase, but either way.” Greer sat up and unlaced her new boots, taking them off and curling her feet underneath her.

Bobbi picked up one of Greer’s dropped boots and examined it. “These shoes are ridiculous. Where did you find them?” They were ankle boots with a fuzzy tiger print body with black toes and black laces, also fuzzy. The boots had a low platform with the chunky heel just slightly separated from the rest of the sole. They were the most ostentatious shoes Bobbi had ever seen, and they were perfect for Greer.

“Shut up, I love them more than life itself.”

“You love your shoes more than life itself?”

“Excuse me, aren’t you the same girl who spent half an hour gushing over her new backpack last week? I’m almost positive I heard the sentence ‘I would die for this backpack’ come out of your mouth.”

True, but in her defense, “Have you seen how many different pockets it has? All those compartments? Think about how much stuff it can store!”

Greer shook her head, smiling. “Compartments. How did I end up with such a geek for a best friend?”

“Excuse me, I think you meant nerd,” Bobbi said. “A geek is someone who collects information, and a nerd is someone who’s proactive with the information they have.”

“Speaking of doing stuff and information, what’s the story with your biology extra credit?”

That subject brought a grin to Bobbi’s face. “I’m going to be studying amino acids and proteins to start with and then getting into experiments with synthetic proteins. Dr. Calvin got me a patron account for the U of I online library so I have access to all of its resources, and she gave a few suggestions for simple hands-on experiments to familiarize myself with the concepts. And then I’ll present an idea for a research project.” She’d met with Dr. Calvin before leaving school to hammer out the details. Aside from the online library access, Bobbi would get after-hours access to the school lab, plus her own key. It was her dream—free, unsupervised access to a biology lab. The fact that it would look good on her college application was just a nice bonus.

“Synthetic proteins, huh? I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“ _Everything_ is a thing. Any kind of weird science fiction concept you can imagine, there’s someone studying it in real life. Or at least, someone who wants to study it but lacks the funding.” Bobbi put Greer’s shoe on the floor next to its match. “I originally wanted to do some experiments with viruses and vaccines, but Dr. Calvin nixed that idea. Something about the school’s insurance not covering zombie outbreaks or whatever.”

“Naturally. You’ll have to leave the zombie outbreaks for when you get to college.”

“Exactly. They know how to handle that kind of thing there.”

“Lots of tasty brains to act as a buffer if things go wrong,” Greer said with a laugh.

“But for now...proteins.”

“Hey, maybe you’ll be able to come up with synthetic meat that you can give to the zombies you create in college,” Greer pointed out. “Speaking of which, do you have anything to eat? I’m starting to get hungry.”

“I’ll find something; come on.”

They walked downstairs to the kitchen. Through the doorway that led to the dining room, Bobbi could see that Ben, her little brother who had just started high school, had a friend over. They had notebooks and binders spread out all over the table, and the girl was reading something about Ancient Egypt out loud from a book she was holding, while Ben had a paper with questions on the table in front of him. Bobbi walked past and went to the fridge to prepare a bowl of fruit, and Greer walked into the dining room to sit down with the freshmen.

Greer and Ben’s new friend introduced themselves to each other—her name was Cindy, apparently—and Bobbi tuned out of the conversation at that point. She filled up a bowl with fruit and brought it over to the sink. As she washed the fruit, she let her mind wander, thinking of the articles she’d bookmarked for the independent study project. It was a lot of reading—she probably wouldn’t get to do anything hands-on for a few weeks, depending on how fast she was able to get through the material. She couldn’t wait.

When she got back to the dining room, Greer was saying, “Yeah, the curriculum is bullshit. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a teacher who encourages a little bit of chaos.”

Cindy chuckled, and Bobbi took the last seat at the table, in between Ben and Greer, as she set the fruit bowl down. Everyone’s hands reached in at once, and they continued to talk as they snacked.

“Is it true that you once handcuffed yourself to the gym equipment room door to protest unequal funding for the girl’s soccer team?” Cindy asked Greer.

Oh, it was true. Bobbi and Greer exchanged a look, remembering the drama that had erupted over that.

“It was actually a toy handcuff from a police officer kit that Bobbi had when she was a kid, and it didn’t actually close over my wrists,” Greer said, wrapping her left thumb and forefinger around her right wrist to approximate how much the handcuffs had covered. “But no one could really tell from where they were standing, and obviously they couldn’t put their hands on me to try and pull me away.”

Cindy laughed. “So what happened?”

“I stayed there for a full day. Missed two pop quizzes. Bobbi and our friend Hank brought me lunch, but I didn’t drink anything, because obviously, I didn’t want to need to use the bathroom. I got detention, but then the topic got picked up in the school paper, and the girls’ team got new uniforms plus an extra half-hour of practice a week.”

“That’s so cool,” Cindy said, a look of awe on her face.

While they reminisced, the front door opened, and Bobbi and Ben’s mother’s footsteps could be heard. Dr. Morse lingered in the hall for a minute, probably putting away her briefcase and her laptop, and then she appeared in the doorway of the dining room. “Hi, kids,” she said. “Hi, Greer.”

“Hi, mom,” Ben said. “This is Cindy.”

“Nice to meet you,” her mom said. She did a small but noticeable double take, then added, “Oh, honey, would you mind not sitting there? That’s Ben’s father’s chair.”

“Oh my God, Mom,” Ben burst out, his face bright red, but Cindy was already standing up and closing her binder.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, gathering her books. “I, uh, where—”

Bobbi and Greer stood up immediately, and Ben pointed to Bobbi’s vacated seat. “Here, sit on my left,” he grumbled. He put his head in his hands as she moved to his other side, and muttered a very inappropriate word.

Bobbi watched the scene unfold quietly with Greer by her side. She’d been in Ben’s position before and knew the secondhand embarrassment of watching people witness their mother’s idiosyncrasies for the first time, the way you could see it written clearly on their face when their entire opinion of the Morse family shifted in a split second. Luckily, she had friends who understood her predicament, and she didn’t really care about anyone else’s approval—but it couldn’t be easy for Ben during his first week of high school. Greer shot Bobbi a sympathetic look, and Bobbi shrugged. There wasn’t much they could do about it now, except hope that Cindy would be understanding.

Not noticing the awkwardness, Bobbi’s mother moved to the kitchen. They could hear the sound of the freezer opening, and then she called out, “Do you two want to stay for dinner? We have plenty of food.”

“Oh, thanks, but Tuesday’s family dinner night at my house,” Cindy said.

Greer covered her mouth and coughed out the word, “Wednesday.”

“I mean, Wednesday,” Cindy quickly amended, picking her backpack up from the floor and starting to load it. She turned to Ben. “Thanks so much for the help.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Ben said.

Cindy nodded. “Sure.”

As the two of them left the room, Greer looked at Bobbi apologetically. “I’ve actually got to get going, too. Get started on at least one of those essays.” She leaned towards Bobbi and lowered her voice, adding, “I’ll try to do some damage control.”

Bobbi gave her a quick smile.

A minute later, the door shut, and Ben stormed into the kitchen, where Bobbi was cutting a salad and their mom was loading the chicken leftovers into the microwave. “Mom, how could you?”

Unfazed, she looked over at Ben and asked, “How could I what?”

“Seriously? You humiliated me before, making Cindy move.”

“Humiliated you? What, I’m not allowed to have rules in my own house?”

“She’s never going to come over again. It’s three days into my first year of high school, and my social life is over. I’m going to turn into _her_.” He indicated Bobbi with a wave of his hand.

Bobbi scowled. “‘No offense, Bobbi.’ ‘Oh, none taken, why would I be offended by that?’” She used her knife to slide the tomatoes she’d just cut into the salad bowl, then wiped some stray tomato juice from her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Oh, please, like you give a rat’s ass about having a social life.”

Bobbi moved two carrots from the counter to the cutting board and started in on them. “Whatever, you don’t have to drag me into this. I’m not the one who drove her off.”

Dr. Morse seemed nonplussed. “She seemed perfectly happy to move when I asked.”

“Yeah, because she didn’t want to antagonize the psycho lady! Mom, _everyone_ in this town knows that Dad’s gone, except for you. When are you going to accept that?”

“Just because he’s away doesn’t mean he’s not part of the family,” their mother said calmly.

“Away? _Away_?” Ben repeated in outrage. “I’ve never heard of a business trip lasting for _four years_ , Mom!”

“Well, now you have.” She set the timer on the microwave, and it started to hum. “Let’s not fight over this. I want to hear about how school is going. Ben, will you get the plates?”

He stood there for a few seconds, exuding frustration in palpable waves, then sighed deeply and walked over to the cupboard. “Sure.”

\--

“What’s creepy is that she doesn’t get rattled by it,” Bobbi said into the phone. “It’s like, she’s so sure that Dad is out there somewhere, fighting hordes of aliens to get back home or whatever. It doesn’t even faze her when people think she’s crazy. You know?”

Hank’s sigh came through loud and clear on the line. “Yeah, I’ve heard her schtick.”

“How is she so sure? Doesn’t she ever think, even for a _second_ , that maybe he’s dead, or at least _not_ coming back? Or is she just trying to stay strong for us in her own special high-IQ-low-emotional-IQ way?”

“I don’t know,” Hank said. “Parents are weird. They never show you who they really are. Like, the person they are with their friends is not the person they are with their kids. The way my mom acts with Vernon, she’s practically a stranger sometimes.”

“I guess. I always thought I knew my dad pretty well.”

“Until he...”

“Yeah, until he disappeared,” Bobbi admitted. “Hey, what chapters were we supposed to read in English? I forgot to write it down.”

“Through eight. What, are we done talking about your parents already?”

“Yeah. Vent over. Out of my system. I read through seven—I’ll get through the last chapter at breakfast tomorrow. What’s new with you?”

“Oh, listen, apparently I’m co-hosting a party Friday night.”

“You’re—sorry, what?”

“Oh, yeah. I always wondered how Janet got away with it. Apparently, going away for the weekend and leaving your teenage kids at home is just something that rich people do. Anyway, she told me that we’ll be having a party at the house Friday night. Not asked, _told_.”

“She used the word ‘we’?”

“‘We’re having a party.’ It’s possible that she meant her and her friends. Anyway, do you think it would make me a bad host if I locked myself in my bedroom for twelve hours straight? Just curious. Since apparently, I don’t get a say in the whole thing.”

“She’s probably so used to thinking of it as her house that it didn’t even occur to her to ask. It’s an adjustment for everyone; it’s bound to be bumpy.”

“I guess. At least I’ve got Tony. His parents are good friends with Vernon, and he’s known Janet since forever, so maybe he can be a buffer.”

Vernon Van Dyne, Janet’s father, had catapulted into fame a decade back after writing a best-selling pop science book on alternate dimensions. Tony’s parents, Howard and Maria Stark, long known for being wealthy philanthropists, had helped ease his way into the glittering world of champagne and red carpets—or so the local gossip said.

The strange thing was that she had a few vague memories of Mr. Van Dyne and her own father being friendly when she was little. She and Janet had had a few playdates as toddlers where both of their fathers would sit in the living room and talk, but the playdates had stopped when Bobbi was about four. The only reason she even remembered any of this was that after her father had disappeared, her mother had tried to reach out to Vernon to see if he could help her find him. Nothing had ever come of that, so Bobbi rarely thought about it.

Now, she turned her attention back to Hank’s present-day problems. “That’s a great idea,” she said. “Having someone around who’s friends with both of you will probably make things easier.”

“Let’s hope so.” There was a sound of papers shuffling over the phone, and then Hank said, “You know what, you were right—it was only through seven.” 

“That’s what I thought!”

\--

This desk was going to be the death of him.

Clint was trying to do homework at his desk, but the wooden trim on the side of his desk was separated from the table, and it kept pinching the skin of his arm. He’d been trying to ignore it, to no avail, for the past twenty minutes, and finally, when it scratched an angry red line into his forearm, he gave up. If he peeled the whole thing off...but no, that would probably just lead to splinters. Maybe Barney had some duct tape or something he could use.

He got up and walked to Barney’s room, gave a half-hearted knock on the door, and, noticing that it wasn’t fully closed, pushed it open and walked inside. “Barney, do you—”

Clint stopped short as he took in the scene in front of him. Barney had a food scale on the desk next to a stack of baggies, and he was holding a scoop with marijuana buds, which spilled onto the desk as he startled and looked up at Clint. Seeing that it was him, Barney blew out a huff of breath and shook his head. “God, I thought you were Mom for a second. Almost had a heart attack.”

“One to match hers, if she saw what you were doing,” Clint said in disbelief. “What the hell is this?”

Barney started to gather the buds and put them into a baggie, which he then set on the scale. “It’s exactly what it looks like, squirt. I’m contributing to the family.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “This is your job? I thought you were, like, a grocery store stocker or something.”

“I’ve been doing deliveries, part-time. But this brings in the real money. What are you doing in here, anyway?”

“Oh. I just wanted to see if you had duct tape.”

“In here.” Barney pulled open one of his desk drawers filled with various tools and supplies, and Clint took the duct tape out, spinning it around two fingers.

“Listen,” Barney said. “Now that you know, I need you to make a delivery. Kid in your school.”

“Aww, Barney—”

“Come on, the kid paid upfront. It’ll be so simple; all you have to do is meet him in the bathroom and drop it off. I’m not a student; they’ll get suspicious if I keep showing up.”

“Why not just meet them somewhere else?”

“He says he doesn’t have time to meet me somewhere else.”

Clint thought about it. He definitely didn’t want to be involved in anything illegal, and not knowing exactly what the source of the drugs was made him even more uncomfortable with the idea. On the other hand, it would take two minutes and then it would be over. “It’s just weed?”

“Yeah, of course,” Barney said. “I’m not an idiot.”

Right.

“I already told him you’d do it,” Barney added.

Clint groaned. “All right, fine.”


	3. Having Such a Good Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint isn’t having a great week.

Clint leaned against the wall and double-checked his watch. Time for crime.

Damn, that was kind of catchy.

He pushed the bathroom door open, walked over to the sink, and turned it on, checking out the rest of the room in the mirror as he ran his hands under the stream of water. Two guys were hanging out at the end of the row of sinks, shooting silent looks at him. Probably the guys he was looking for. He shot a glance at the stalls—all of them open and empty—then dried his hands on a paper towel and turned towards the other guys.

“Barton?” one of them said.

Clint nodded. “You Cross?”

“Elton Healey.” He jerked his thumb at the guy next to him. “That’s Cross.”

“I only have one envelope,” Clint said, wondering if he’d gotten his wires crossed and wishing for the hundredth time that he hadn’t agreed to this.

“No, it’s cool,” Cross said. “It’s for me. Elt’s just my lookout.”

“The lookout?” Clint tilted his head. Guy wasn’t doing much looking out; he was just standing there next to them. _Not my problem_ , he reminded himself, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out the folded-up manila envelope Barney had given him earlier. “Here you go.”

Cross took the envelope from his hand, and Clint turned to go, but Elton held up a hand. “Wait, we want to check the merchandise.”

_Check the merchandise_? “You’re kidding me, right?” Clint said. “It’s pot, not a shipment of semi-automatics. Plus, a teacher could walk in at any second.” He pointed to the envelope. “Put that shit away before we get caught.”

Cross laughed. “Fair enough.” He tucked the envelope away in the pocket of his pants, then held his hand out to Clint for a fist bump. “Relax, bro. We’re all good.”

Yeah. Clint tapped his fist to Cross’s, trying to will away the beads of sweat on his forehead. “Enjoy, man.”

During the car ride home, he said to Barney, “I’m really not comfortable with the whole dealing thing.”

Barney checked the mirrors and switched lanes. “Yeah, neither was I, at first.”

“Not ‘at first.’ I don’t want to do it again.”

Barney _hmmmed_. Then he nodded and said, “Yeah, fair enough. I really shouldn’t be selling drugs on school grounds, anyway. The penalty is much higher if you get caught.”

“So good of you to tell me that after the fact,” Clint grumbled.  
“Oh, you’re a minor.” Barney waved him off with his hand. “Anyway, nothing happened, and you don’t have to do it again.”

That wasn’t exactly reassuring. “You shouldn’t be doing it either,” Clint argued. “It’s too risky. Any one of the people you’re dealing to could rat you out the second _they_ get caught.”

Barney was infuriatingly glib as he responded, “And then they’d lose their supplier.”

“It’s illegal, Barney! You could get in a lot of trouble. Why not just stick with your real job?”

Barney was quiet until they reached the next red light, at which point he turned to Clint with a glare on his face. “My ‘real job’ won’t give me more than fifteen hours a week, and it pays _shit_ , Clint. That, together with Mom’s salary, barely covers the rent on this crappy apartment that doesn’t have hot water half the time. And you know she deserves better. All this effort she put in to get us away from that asshole abusive father of ours, to keep us safe from that bastard, and this is what she gets for it? That’s crap. What I’m doing isn’t even illegal in all fifty states. It hurts no one, and I get to contribute real money to the family.” The light turned green, and Barney hit the gas. “It’s worth the risk.”

\--

Jan’s first party of the year was a massive success, so far.

A few of her friends had come over early to help set up, and there was the perfect amount of food and drinks—both alcoholic and dry—to keep everyone happy. Jen had helped her picked out the perfect playlist, and the crowd was full of people enjoying themselves without being overly rowdy. It was still early, though—too soon to rest on her laurels.

She was a little disappointed that Hank didn’t seem to be showing his face. Until recently, they hadn’t interacted since their kindergarten days, when they used to fight over the single red swing at the park; it was a little awkward going from being near-strangers to sharing a house. She’d been hoping that he would take her invitation as an olive branch, and maybe they would get more comfortable in their step-sibling roles.

Putting that thought to the side for now, she started to count the beer bottles on the table, to see if she needed to bring out some more. She was at eleven when an arm snaked around her and grabbed a few bottles off the table. Jan looked up to see her friend Wanda giving her an amused look.

“Great party, Mom,” Wanda teased. “When are you coming back to hang out with us?”

“I’ll be over in a minute. Just making sure there’s enough.”

Wanda pouted. “Jan. Darling. Love. You are _much_ too young to be the chaperone at your own party.”

Right. “I guess I can take a few minutes to enjoy the fruits of my labor,” Jan allowed. The two of them walked over to where the rest of their friends were standing, and Wanda started to pass the beer around.

Steve took one and turned to Sam. “Want to split one with me?” Everyone looked at him in surprise, given both of their football-honed physiques and general tolerance for alcohol, and he added, “What? We have practice at 6:30 tomorrow morning.”

Simon winced. “Ugh, don’t tell me what time you have to be awake for that.”

“Oh, we don’t have to be awake until after we finish warm-up,” Sam said. “In fact, it’s better not to be.”

Wanda snorted.

“Well, I can’t drink either,” Simon said. “Jan put me on designated lifeguard duty.”

Their faces all turned toward Jan. “Hey, blame Steve for posting that article about drunk drowning a few weeks ago.”

“I think you mean, ‘Thank Steve,’” Steve corrected. “And you’re welcome.”

“Well, it should be more low-key than watching the kids at the community pool, right?” Sam said, nodding at Simon.

“Don’t even remind me.” Simon shook his head. “Some of those kids have no self-preservation instincts at _all_. I aged sixty years this summer. You see this beautiful head of black hair?” He pointed for emphasis. “It’s from a bottle. I’m completely gray underneath.”

Jen laughed. “Okay, then. Wanda? You with me?” She held her bottle out.

“Cheers,” Wanda responded, clinking their bottles together and bringing it to her lips. “Hey, has anyone seen Tony tonight?”

Jan had been wondering the same thing herself. “I’ll go look for him.” A new song came on as she got the sentence out, and Jen made puppy dog eyes at her, but Jan laughed. “I’ll just do a once-over and then I’ll dance, I promise. Steve, go dance with Jen in the meantime.”

Steve shrugged with his adorable _yes, ma’am_ grin and allowed Jen to pull him over to the dance floor, and Jan headed into the front hall to see if she could find Tony. Most of her time at these parties was spent checking on guests rather than actual partying, but, the truth was, that was her favorite part. Helping guests find their social groups, making sure they had food and drinks, ensuring that the music and sound system were set up just right to get everyone to unbutton and enjoy themselves...those were things she was good at.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out to see a text from Hank.

_Lower the volume pls_

Seriously? So much for an olive branch. She and Hank had barely known each other before their parents got married, and even when their parents had been dating, the two of them had never really had occasion to talk. At the wedding, she’d spent most of the time with childhood acquaintances whose parents were friends with her father, and she’d caught a few glimpses of Hank with Tony. She’d thought that inviting him to co-host her senior opening party might help to let them get to know each other a little, but Hank had spent the entire afternoon hiding out in his room, even while she had set up. He didn’t even bother showing his face, and now he was making demands? 

In any case, this was the first party of the _year_. It needed to set the standard for the rest of the year. If the music was too low, the dancing would be lackluster, and if the dancing were lackluster, people wouldn’t be able to fill the lulls in their conversations, and then they would get bored and leave and someone else would throw the next party.

So, no, she wasn’t going to _lower the volume, pls_.

Jan considered ignoring the text, but she allowed herself a trace of pettiness, responding with a message that said, _no can do!_ before slipping the phone back into her pocket and continuing to mingle. She smiled at a few people and said hello, keeping her eyes open for Tony.

A minute later, she spotted Hank on the stairway, looking livid. She saw his eyes land on the speakers, and she knew she’d have to move quickly to intercept him.

She met him at the bottom of the stairs. “Come to join us?”

Hank glared. “What’s your problem?”

He turned his head for a second, and she caught a flash of something in his ear. “Are you seriously wearing earplugs?”

His face flushed red. “Would you just turn it down?”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sakes.” What a drama queen. He couldn’t have just taken no for an answer like a normal person; he had to break out the accessories. “Stop being so dramatic, Hank. Loosen up, join the party, and have fun for once in your life.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught someone she wanted to say hi to, so she dismissed Hank with a wave of her hand and headed into the crowd, looking for the new guy. There he was, standing by the stairway, in a striped shirt and black jeans, his shaggy mop of blonde hair making him stand out.

He was looking around as she approached, not talking to anyone. “Hi! Clint!” Jan said as she walked up to him. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

He nodded, friendly enough, but seemingly, kind of shy. “Yeah. Thanks, uh, for inviting me.” He lifted his arm and rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s great to have you,” she said, raising her voice a little so she could be heard over the music. “Did you arrive with anyone else?”

He shook his head. “Haven't really met people yet.”

“Well, I'll introduce you to my friends,” she offered. “I’m just trying to find someone—feel free to walk with me.” Before he could answer, she started to walk. “So, where do you come from?”

“I grew up in—” Clint began, but a pair of hands covered Jan’s eyes, and she let out a little squeak of surprise, which meant that she missed the end of the sentence. Before the owner of the hands could even ask her to guess who, she turned around, already knowing who she would find.

“Tony, hey!” She gave him a quick hug. “This is Clint; he’s new. Clint, Tony.”

“Hey, man,” Tony said. Turning to Jan, he added, “Sorry I’m late; Uber trouble. I can’t _believe_ you started without me.”

She laughed and shoved him lightly. “You jerk. I was in the middle of the conversation.”

“ _Je suis profondément désolé_ ,” Tony apologized in his usual over-the-top way, and then in English: “Please forgive my rudeness.”

With a roll of her eyes, she turned back to Clint. “Sorry about him. He’s a very spoiled little boy. Where did you say you were from again?”

“Iowa.”

“Really,” Jan said. “Did you move to be closer to the big city?” She couldn’t see Tony’s skeptical smirk next to her, but she knew him well enough to know that it was there, so she elbowed him lightly and added, “Hey, it’s all relative, okay? Chicago is less than an hour away.”

“Yeah, we’re so metropolitan out here in the suburbs,” Tony said. “Stop interrogating this guy and let’s go open up the pool. I assume you waited for me for that, at least. Clint, do you swim?”

Jan sent Clint an apologetic look. “Oh no, I totally forgot to tell you about the pool. You can sit at the edge, go in your clothing and then toss them in the dryer, strip to your underwear, whatever. You won’t be the only one, whatever you choose.” She looked at him, trying to make her face seem as friendly as possible. It couldn’t be easy, starting a new school so close to graduation. He still seemed hesitant, so she added, “You can also walk around and then join us outside later. Whatever you want.”

Clint nodded. “Maybe, yeah. Thanks.”

Tony tugged on her arm. “Okay, okay.” To Clint, she said, “So I’ll see you around. Let me know if you need anything. Have fun!”

Tony dragged her away, murmuring, “ _Let me know if you need anything_?” in disbelief.

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, no, it’s cute.”

\--

This was by far the nicest house he’d ever been in. The ceiling of the room he was in was high enough that it could have fit two floors, and big enough to fit his entire apartment. The furniture looked like it had been picked out by someone whose real-life job was picking out furniture, and the weirdest thing of all was that there was no _stuff_ lying about. No stacks of bills and credit card statements on side tables, no junk mail or coupons piled up on shelves. He wondered where rich people kept all their papers.

He made his way through the crowd, hoping it wasn’t a mistake to have turned down the pool invite. Janet was friendly, but she was also clearly a top player in the social strata, and he wasn’t sure he was meant for that spotlight. On the other hand, she was the only person at school to have reached out so far, and he was fully expecting to spend the entire evening on the sidelines, trying not to stick out too much as a wallflower. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to make friends, but how was he supposed to do that here? What did he even have in common with any of these people?

There was a couch in his line of sight with a free seat by the armrest. Perfect. He could sit there, relax, just listen to the music and enjoy his surroundings without too many eyes on him.

He’d almost reached the couch when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up to see the guy from the bathroom deal the other day, who stuck out his fist for a bump. “Hey, Pot Guy!”

Clint tried not to visibly wince. The last thing he needed was _that_ as a nickname. “Hey.” What was the guy’s name? Tom? Tim?

“Dude, I was calling your name,” the guy said. Will, that was it. “Didn’t you hear me?” 

Clint laughed nervously and ran his fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “I, uh...don’t usually answer to ‘Pot Guy.’”

Will let out a bellow of laughter, like that was the funniest thing he’d heard all night. “Barton, right? Want to come sit with us and help us use up your brother’s product? The sooner it’s all gone, the sooner the next order goes in. Assuming this shit is any good, anyway.”

Fraternal instinct compelled him to speak up on his brother’s behalf, but he quashed in, not wanting to get any more involved in Barney’s extra-curricular activities than he had to be. Still, he couldn’t help but feel relieved that anyone at all was inviting him to hang out. “I’m game,” Clint said.

“Great. Follow me.”

Cross led him across the house to a sliding glass door and out to a huge deck full of people. Behind the crowd, the pool was visible, encased by a glass fence and illuminated by underwater lights. The gate was open, and a bunch of people had moved into the pool area. Some of them were in bathing suits or in their underwear in the water, just like Janet had said, while others had their pants rolled up and were sitting at the side of the pool with their legs in the water. Clint tried not to stare, but it boggled his mind that these kids were his peers, that he was actually _at_ this party. He’d thought settings like this only existed in movies.

He followed Cross down the stairs, and instead of walking towards the pool, they turned and headed to the side of the deck, ducking under the raised floor, where they found a group of kids sitting on a picnic mat next to the lattice panel which went down from the deck floor to the ground. Elton, the “lookout,” was there, with a girl Clint didn’t recognize sitting next to him. Another guy who he didn’t know was there, too, slouching against the panel and holding a joint up to his lips. The guy took a toke and then passed it to the girl.

“Hey, guys,” Cross said to his friends. “This is Bart—” he turned to Clint. “What’s your first name, again?”

“Clint.”

“Clint. Right. Anyway, you know Elton; that’s Wendy and Dean.” As he introduced them, Cross took the joint from Wendy, taking a draw and then holding it out to Clint. It felt a little weird, knowing that the weed was Barney’s “product,” like it was a family business or something. Not exactly the legacy he wanted to leave.

“Dude,” Cross said, and Clint realized he’d left the guy hanging.

“Sorry. Spaced out for a second.” Clint took the joint from him and brought it to his lips. He took a puff and let it sit in his lungs for a few seconds, closing his eyes to focus on the feeling before exhaling. With his eyes closed and all of the noises in of the party melting together into a background hum, he could almost pretend that he was alone, in a peaceful bubble somewhere, with no worries. That time and space were frozen in this moment, where he was all that existed.

Then he opened his eyes and he was plopped right back into the awkward party where he knew nobody, starting a new school with only one year left to go.

He took another drag and then passed the joint on while he waited for the high to kick in. For the next few minutes, the five of them sat in silence, passing it around, until it was too short to be useful, and they put the roach out in the dirt. Through the lattice, Clint watched his new classmates jumping in the pool, pulling each other in, shrieking with laughter as water splashed everywhere.

A voice invaded his hazy interlude. Because they were sitting in the shadows, he couldn’t make out everything that everyone was saying, but he was able to patch together most of the things he missed from context.

“Remember when that chick [...] Grant almost drowned in the pool?”

“I think she did drown,” Wendy said. “Simon [...] CPR on her.”

Clint turned looked away from the pool, back toward the group. Wendy had picked up a stick and was tracing shapes into the ground, and Elton was adding flourishes with his finger.

Cross flicked some dirt in their direction. “No way, she just freaked out a [...] pulled her out of the pool.”

“I’m pretty sure she went under,” Wendy argued, shaking her head.

“Whatever it was. Way she stuck to [...] rest of the night, she definitely let him do more than CPR on her once the party was over.” Cross giggled. “If you know what I mean.”

Clint had no idea who any of the people they were talking about were, or why it was important who hooked up with whom at a party who-knows-how-long-ago. But at least he had someone to sit with. 

“ _No_. What?” Elton said sarcastically.

“I’ve made passes at her [...] times, and she’s never picked up [...] put down,” Cross complained. “Which is bullshit, because I have it on very good authority that she’s not picky.” He paused, then added again, “If you know what I mean.”

“It’s because she’s [...] Morse,” Elton said.

Dean snickered. “What, did [...] vow of celibacy until her friend gets some?”

Wendy made an annoyed huffing sound. “It’s because just [...] hooks up with lots of guys doesn’t mean she wants [...] with literally every guy?”

“Or it’s just your ugly mug.” Dean pointed to Cross. “You should make a pass at Bobbi Morse, see what happens.”

Cross made a gagging sound. “It will _never_ come to that.”

“Listen, man, it’s senior year. Prank year. [...] go out with a bang. Flood the teacher’s room. [...] goat free in the hallways. Let Bobbi Morse finally get a second look from a guy.”

“Hell will freeze over before Bobbi Morse gets a second look from a guy,” Cross said. “You probably couldn’t even pay someone to date her.”

An image popped into Clint’s head of a cartoon witch, with ashen skin and gray straw hair sticking out in all directions, dressed in a black robe down to the floor. He imagined the witch sitting next to him in class, copying down notes from the board and cackling all the while. “She can’t be that bad.”

Cross snorted, and the whole group of them burst into giggles. “Oh, she so is,” he said. “She’s uptight and stuck-up and has a stick up—”

“Uptight, stuck-up, stick up,” interrupted Wendy in a sing-song voice. “Don’t forget [...] crazy and violent.”

Dean laughed. “That was, like, what? Over a decade ago and Will still won’t shut up about it.”

“Hey, she ruined my knee! I still can’t run [...] ten minutes at a time.”

“You’ve never _tried_ to run more than ten minutes at a time,” Elton said.

“Because of my goddamn knee,” Cross insisted. He turned to Clint. “You think she can’t be that bad? I’ll pay you to date her.”

Wendy burst out laughing.

“What?” He couldn’t have heard that right. It actually had sounded like he’d heard it right, but his brain must have arranged the sounds in the wrong order or something, which, to be fair, it was known to do once in a while.

“Yeah, [...] hilarious. Fifty dollars a week, convince her that you’re super [...] and date her and shit. Oh my God, can you imagine?”

“Yeah, and then Greer will agree to put out for Will.” Elton laughed and shoved Cross playfully.

Cross shook his head. “Ugh, why do I [...] you people?” He turned to Clint. “What do you say, Pot Guy?”

“Easy money, shit, I’ll do it for fifty dollars a week,” Dean said. “Go [...] week, dump her after a month.”

“She’d never buy it from you,” Cross said to him dismissively. “This is perfect, though. [...] kid, no reputation...do it, Barton, be a martyr.”

“Some martyr, for fifty a week,” snorted Wendy.

This was getting out of hand. “I’m not going to pretend to date some girl for money,” Clint said. The money was tempting, sure, but he wasn’t going to victimize some poor girl to get it. He had a bad history with relationships anyway—everyone he’d ever dated had had some sort of ulterior motive, and he wasn’t willing to inflict the kind of hurt he’d been through on someone else.

Elton shook his head, disappointed. “Dude. It would’ve been _epic_.”

“Hey, I’ll do it,” Dean offered again.

“Shut up already,” Cross said. “You got such a hard-on for Bobbi Morse, you can [...] for free.”

“Fuck you, man,” Dean said, laughing. “I want my fifty dollars.”

“Not worth it. What if she [...] you and did you in like she did her dad?”

“Don’t be morbid,” Wendy said. “I’m sure he’s [...] L.A. or something, away from his psycho nightmare daughter.”

“No way. He jumped. Everyone knows it.”

What the fuck was wrong with these people? Not for the first time, Clint was regretting letting Cross bring him over. But it was too late—he was stoned at a party full of strangers, and if he left this group, he’d be _really_ alone. So he leaned back against the lattice and closed his eyes, zoning out and letting their voices fade into the background until the high finally passed.

\--

It wasn’t that late when he got home, but for some reason, the apartment was dark. Clint locked the door behind him and made his way over to the living room light switch by the light from the street coming in through the windows, and flipped it, but nothing turned on. Puzzled, he walked over to the kitchen and did the same. Still nothing. In the kitchen, he flipped the switch back and forth a few times just to make sure, but nothing happened.

He opened his mouth, about to call out for his mother, but then he heard her voice coming from her bedroom, on the phone with someone. He crept towards the open door to listen to her side of the conversation. “I sent it a few days ago...yes, I know, but it’s on the way.” There was a long pause before she spoke again. “Okay, I have a prepaid card...yes, Visa...So I can cancel the check?...Oh. Okay, so I’ll have a credit when it arrives?... Reconnection fee?...Oh, of course. Is there any chance—”

Not wanting to hear anymore, Clint tiptoed past the doorway of his mother’s bedroom and went into his room, closing the door behind him. His hand went automatically to the light switch, but he caught himself in time.

Fifty dollars a week. The fact that Cross even brought it up meant that money like that must have been like peanuts to him and his friends. Two hundred dollars a month. Two hundred dollars a month for what, spending time with someone? Someone Cross seemed to hate, which, the more Clint got to know the guy, the more that seemed like a mark of character.

What was he thinking? He couldn’t be involved in something like this. He didn’t even want to talk to Cross again, let alone go into business with him, scamming some innocent girl. He...he wasn’t that kind of person. He was a good person.

There was a knock on the door, and his mom peeked her head in. “Hey, sweetie,” she said, an apologetic look on her face. “Looks like there’s some sort of problem with the electricity. They’re going to send someone to fix it, but because it’s the weekend, it might take some time.”

He didn’t let on that he’d overheard her on the phone. If she wanted to lie and pretend things were better than they were, he wouldn’t take that from her. But if they were really in those kinds of straits...maybe she wasn’t the only one who needed to bend her morals a bit.


	4. Try Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint re-thinks his strategy.

Clint stopped at Barney’s door after waking up late Saturday morning. This time, it was open, and Barney was typing something on his phone. He looked up at Clint. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you had any orders for Will Cross,” Clint said, the words feeling strange as they came out of his mouth.

“Oh, all of a sudden you’re back in the game?”

“A one-time thing. Well, two-time. I need to talk to him, and I want him in a good mood.”

Barney raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t ask any more questions. “I was going to deliver it tomorrow, but I can put it together today if you want. I’ll talk to him, then give you the address and time.”

“Okay.” Clint nodded. “Thanks.” He turned to go, feeling numb. This wasn’t him, was it? The type of guy who would take a bet that could hurt someone.

_Could_ being the keyword, he reminded himself. He had no intention of hurting anyone.

Barney lent him his car, and he met up with Cross in a park that afternoon.

“This is turning into a regular thing, huh?” Cross said as he handed Clint the money.

“Actually, I was thinking of striking out on my own,” Clint said. “Barney’s got his business, so I figured I should do something independent of him.” He hesitated, wincing internally, then added, “So...remember that thing we were talking about last night? About that girl?”

“Bobbi Morse.”

Cross always used two names and that tone of voice when talking about her, Clint noticed, like she was a supervillain or something. Lex Luthor, Poison Ivy, Bobbi Morse.

“Right. Anyway...that offer still open?”

“Dude, are you serious?”

Clint didn’t answer, not knowing whether ‘are you serious’ meant ‘of course it’s open’ or ‘of course it’s not open,’ but then Cross slapped him on the back and said, “You’ll do it?” Which seemed to indicate the former.

“Out of curiosity,” Clint said, “why do you hate this girl so much?”

“Nothing, she’s just a bitch, that’s all.”

“Right.” He was regretting this already. “What exactly did you have in mind? Pizza, movies?”

“Maybe for the first week,” Cross said. “But that’ll get boring fast. Convince her you’re a real couple; ham it up. Hold hands in the hallway and all that shit. Then dump her.”

That...that did not sound like something he wanted to do. But Cross was already getting his wallet out of his pocket. “Here you go,” Cross said, handing him a twenty. “An advance.”

Clint held the bill between his fingers, not quite ready to pocket the money. “What if I decide I want to keep dating her?” he asked. “Instead of dumping her at the end.”

Cross gave him a probing look, then he laughed out loud and shook a finger at him. “You, you’re funny, man. I like you.”

\--

When she finished the sentence she was reading for the third time without a clue what it said, Bobbi realized it was time for a break. She’d already gone through three articles without any hands-on work, and her left inferior frontal gyrus was burned out.

Dr. Calvin had given her a list of websites where she could find lab suggestions. Armed with a key to the supply closet, the sky was the limit. She found something that looked like it wouldn’t take longer than fifteen minutes and started putting together the experiment.

At some point, she heard the door open. Bobbi was used to Dr. Calvin going in and out of the lab while she worked, so she didn’t bother looking up. She could see movement out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t pay it any attention until an unfamiliar voice said, “Hi. Bobbi?”

It wasn’t Dr. Calvin. It was a boy, someone she’d seen once or twice in the hallway since the start of the year. Tall and lanky, with messy blonde hair, a slightly crooked nose, and bright blue eyes. She’d noticed him earlier, made a mental note that he was unfamiliar, and filed him away in her head as “either a freshman or a new student.” At that height, probably not a freshman, but it was possible. Best not to jump to conclusions.

The guy stuck out his hand. “I’m Clint Barton.”

Acting on instinct, Bobbi his outstretched hand and moved it over, so that it wasn’t directly above the flask. “You’re five seconds away from a serious chemical burn, is what you are.”

“Oh.” The tips of his cheekbones turned pink.

Even though he was a complete stranger and normally she would have been tongue-tied, the blush made him seem relatable, and she relaxed a bit. “Don’t worry about it. How can I help you?”

He visibly hesitated. Then his eyes flickered over to the lab table. As if to put off an unpleasant task, he changed the subject. “What are you making?”

“Oh.” She glanced over at the equipment. “Nothing, actually. I’m supposed to be reading scientific articles right now for this project I’m going to be working on, but...I kind of got bored.”

Clint laughed. “So you’re just screwing around?”

“Basically. One of the papers I managed to get through mentioned something that I wanted to try.” She corked the flask and pushed her goggles up to the top of her head. “So...you were looking for me?”

“Right, no, I...” He trailed off, then pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Never mind. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” He turned away.

“Stop,” Bobbi called out. She hopped off the stool and walked around to the other side of the table, getting in between him and the aisle. “You came here for a reason. What was it?”

He swallowed. “Okay. Um. You know Will Cross?”

“Oh, no. Is he bothering you?”

“No, not exactly.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then what does he want?”

“Shit, this is going to make me sound like I’m with him.”

“With him on what?”

“Okay, let’s rip off the band-aid, Clint,” he said to himself. He took a deep breath and looked at her. “He’s got some weird grudge about you that I assume you know about and I know that walking into some situation without knowing anything about it is an awful idea, but long story short, he offered to pay me to date you as a joke and I figured if I just told you we could split the money and pull one over on him.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Her eyes darted back and forth, and then up to the ceiling, searching for hidden cameras.

“I know, I know, it’s totally fucked up. But he’s a fool and he’s got money, and I thought maybe we might as well take it off his hands.”

Bobbi gave him a suspicious look. “You don’t even know me. I might be just as bad as he says I am.”

“Are you?”

She laughed. “No.”

“So are you in?”

She sighed. “Oh...I don't know. I have hobbies and this independent study thing, and I work at this coffee place twice a week—I don't really have time to date anyone right now. How much money?”

He told her. “But think of it this way. You have an opportunity here to turn things around on Cross. He thinks he's manipulating you? He's paying for your dinners!”

She looked at him for a long time. He seemed upfront—and she liked that. She didn’t give a rat's ass what Cross or any of his sidekicks thought of her, though she did like the idea of taking that dumbass’s money. Plus, Clint had this appealing energy about him, and she thought it'd be fun to spend time with him. It certainly wouldn't be _boring_ , anyway, if these first five minutes were any indication.

“I should probably also add that he wants me to ‘dump’ you at some point,” Clint added.

Bobbi nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

It was ridiculous. It was completely and totally ridiculous and such a bizarre scheme and...would probably make her senior year much more memorable.

“Okay,” she said. “I'll do it.”

“Yes!” He pumped his fist in the air. “It's a pleasure doing business with you, Bobbi.”

He extended his hand again, glancing momentarily at the plugged flask, and she smiled and shook his hand. “It's nice to meet you, Clint.”


	5. The Three Key Words For Any Slayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun with schemes and plans.

The next day, they met up at the picnic tables next to the track and started to plan out their strategy.

“Football games are always a good place to be seen,” Bobbi pointed out, writing the word ‘football’ in a notebook. “And the first game is this Friday night.”

“That’s good,” Clint said. “But isn’t it kind of a big step? Like, if this were real, it would be making a statement to sit together at a game. We’d probably go more slowly.”

“I guess you’re right.” She added ‘later on’ in parentheses at the end of the line. “You’re good at this.”

“Eh. I’ve got some experience, that’s all.”

“I’ve mentioned that I have zero experience with any type of dating, right?”

“You implied it.” He turned to look at her, giving her a quick once-over while trying not to get caught. She wasn’t bad-looking, not at all. She had a great smile, which he’d noticed yesterday, and the red plastic glasses she wore framed her heart-shaped face nicely. “Why not? Too busy, not interested...?”

“I don’t really know most of my classmates well enough for that. Since I was a kid, most of my crushes have been on...this is dumb. Book characters?” She turned her head to the side, letting her long hair fall over her face. “Oh God, Bobbi, stop talking.”

He laughed. “No, that’s cute. Which ones?”

She gave him a skeptical look, but something in his face must have convinced her that he was actually interested, because she started talking, ticking off characters on her fingers. “Well, there’s Prince Char from _Ella Enchanted_. Hermione Granger. Peeta from _The Hunger Games_. Benedick from _Much Ado About Nothing_...and that was probably too much information. I’m not completely out of touch with reality. I actually had a crush on a guy at school, but he was kind of...out of my league.”

“Oh, I doubt that. You should have had Will Cross approach him.” Clint winked.

“Yeah, he’s quite the wingman.” She laughed, then changed the subject. “Hey, are we going to, like, meet each other’s families?”

Well, that was a thought. “I don’t know. I don’t particularly want to lie to my mom.”

“If I introduced you to my mom, she’d probably forget all about it within fifteen minutes. She’s kind of the stereotypical absent-minded professor. And...well, you’ll probably hear about it at some point—my dad’s not around. He kind of vanished without a trace a few years ago.”

Clint remembered the way the guys at Janet’s party had been talking about it and held back a shudder. She didn’t need to know the things they’d said. “He left you?”

“My mom doesn’t think so,” she said matter-of-factly. “He had some sort of secret government job, and he went away for work once in a while, and then one time they kind of...lost him. My mom thinks he’s undercover on some super-important mission, but my brother thinks he’s dead. And, of course, a bunch of people around town assumed he just ran off.”

“Wow. My parents are just regular old divorced.” Which wasn’t the full truth, but it was close enough.

She winced. “Sorry, am I scaring you off? I never know—I just figured I’d get it out of the way. You’ll hear rumors soon enough, if you’re going to be dating me publicly.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine.” He tried not to show on his face that he’d already heard rumors, probably from the worst possible source. “Uh, what do you think happened to your dad?”

“Well,” Bobbi said, “here’s the thing. I like to fancy myself a scientist. Or at least a future scientist.”

“Meaning?”

“I extrapolate data from observations.” She sighed and folded her arms on the table. “But in this case...there’s nothing to extrapolate from. Like I said, he vanished without a trace. So I just...don’t know.”

Without a trace. No wonder there were so many rumors. It must have been hard for her to have no closure. For Clint’s part, he wouldn’t mind if his dad were dead, but his dad wasn’t exactly a representative sample. Presumably, Bobbi’s father didn’t get drunk and hit her or her mom.

“So anyway,” she said, interrupting his thoughts, “I guess that’s a no on meeting family.” She wrote that down in the notebook, then turned her wrist and checked the time on her watch. “I’ve gotta go get ready for work. Here, I’ll put my number in your phone. Give me a call around nine, okay?”

\--

“So, Will Cross is paying him and he’s paying you?” Greer asked. They were in Bobbi’s room, both of them sitting on Bobbi’s bed with their backs against the wall. Greer wore a faded custom-made pink t-shirt that read, _Ask Me About My Cat Fursona_.

“Basically.”

“Uh-huh. And what does Will get out of this?”

“The perverse satisfaction of seeing me have a boyfriend, something I guess he thinks I’ve been secretly pining for, and him knowing that it’s not real?”

“And he’s willing to pay for that.”

“Apparently.”

“What a moron.” Greer laughed and shook her head. “I love it. You’re like some undercover spy.”

Bobbi snorted.

“Mata Hari,” Greer teased. “I’m so jealous! I need some intrigue in my life.”

“What, getting into daily battles of will with the school administration isn’t enough?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. A week and a half at school and they’re already pestering me about the dress code. Dugan got on my case this morning because my bra strap was showing. My bra strap! Like it’s some sort of dirty secret I wear a bra. Let me show up to school tomorrow without one, see if that’s any better.”

Bobbi _tsked_ in sympathy.

“So anyway,” Greer continued, “I already spoke to Emma and we’re protesting Friday morning before first period in front of the building. Technically, she’s in charge of recruitment and I’m making the signs, but you’ll join us, right?”

“Of course. Do you need any help with the signs?”

“Dear Lord, not from you, not if I want people to be able to read what I say.”

Bobbi frowned, even though it was a completely fair assessment. “I feel like I should say ‘hey’ to that.”

“Oh, you know it’s true. The cliche about doctors and bad handwriting? You’re just getting an early start. On both.”

“Well, maybe I can come up with slogans, at least.”

A knock at Bobbi’s window interrupted them. Hank, no doubt. There was no logical reason why he always showed up at her window instead of the front door, except that this was how he’d always done it, and the routine was comforting. She walked over to the window, pushing aside the light yellow curtains to reveal Hank perched on the garage roof, and opened the window to let him in.

“I need advice,” Hank said as he lowered himself from the sill to the floor. “She stole my earplugs.”

“Who, Janet?” Greer asked from the bed.

Hank looked up, surprise written on his face. He clearly hadn’t expected Greer, but he recovered quickly enough. “She was making fun of them on Friday night, and now they’re gone,” he explained. “I always keep them in my backpack or on my bookshelf, and they’re not _anywhere_. But if I accuse her without proof...”

“Here, give me your phone,” Greer said. He handed it over, and she started to compose a message, reading out loud as she typed. “‘Hey, comma, can’t find my earplugs, comma, have you seen them, question mark.’ Simple, no dramatics. You’re not accusing her; you’re asking for help.” She looked at Hank, who shrugged, and then she pressed “send.”

“I hate this,” Hank complained. “Why couldn’t _they_ have moved into _our_ house? Don’t answer that,” he added quickly.

“You could try telling her about your SPD,” Greer suggested.

He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, shaking his head for a few seconds, then looked at them and said, “I don’t need to give her any more ammunition.”

Greer gave him a sympathetic look. “Come here.” Bobbi moved over so that Hank could sit in the space between the two of them, and he moved in. “Sorry your family life is such a mess.”

Hank’s head dropped onto Greer’s shoulder, and she put an arm around him. For a second, Bobbi felt she should make an excuse to leave the room, like she was intruding on a moment that didn’t belong to her, but then Greer gave Hank a gentle nudge with her hip which bumped him into Bobbi. Bobbi smirked and returned the favor, and it wasn’t long before they had a human Newton’s cradle going on.

“Right,” Hank said finally, stilling himself. “I’m done being a buzzkill. What were you two talking about before I interrupted?”

“Greer’s taking down the school administration,” Bobbi answered.

“Some guy’s going to pay Bobbi to date her,” Greer said at the same time.

Hank looked back and forth between them as if trying to decide which piece of information to respond to first. Then he shrugged. “Hey, as long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual—”

Bobbi reached for one of Greer’s tiger shoes lying on her rug and threw it at him. He dodged, laughing.

“It’s not like that.”

“They’re scamming Will Cross,” Greer cut in.

“Oh, I like _that_ ,” Hank said. He turned and picked up the shoe, then held it on his lap. “How did that come about?”

“Just Will being his normal self. He bet Clint that I wouldn’t agree, or that I would be so horrible he wouldn’t be able to stand being in the same room as me, or...I don’t know.”

“How very _She’s All That_ of him. Are you going to have to lose the glasses?”

“This isn’t the 90s,” Greer said. “Girls are allowed to wear glasses now.”

“Ooh, I like that,” Bobbi said. “Can we tweak it for one of the signs?”

“Signs?” Hank asked.

“Greer’s hosting a sit-in Friday morning in protest of creepy teachers obsessing over every hairline dress code violation.”

“An apt description.” Greer nodded approvingly.

“That’s great,” Hank said, but there was a touch of reservation in his expression.

“I talked Emma out of getting a megaphone,” Greer said.

The smile spread over his face. “I’ll be there.”

\--

As Hank let himself out of Bobbi’s window and jumped to the ground, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out as he made his way to his car, seeing that Janet had responded to Greer’s text.

_lets compromise. u come to my next party, i give them back_

Rage, white-hot and fierce, flashed through him, and he quickly typed out a reply:

_no fuck you_

He pressed the send button before he could talk himself out of it, then raised his arm up as if to throw the phone, but the image in his mind of the phone shattering against the car door stopped him. _Consequences_. His therapist always advised him to imagine what would happen two steps ahead of every emotional outburst, and it was the most effective technique he had.

He took two deep breaths and reminded himself that they were just earplugs. He could stop off at the drugstore on the way home and pick up a cheap case of twelve. And it didn’t matter what Janet thought of him, anyway. In a year from now, he’d be off to college, and he could make his own life. In the meantime, he had his friends.

The phone buzzed again, and Janet’s reply popped up on the screen.

_it was a joke. theyre already on your desk._

What was twelve months, in the scheme of things?

\--

The football stands were packed Friday night, full of students and their families, along with plenty of townies. Clint and Barney found a bench with some room on it in near the 20-year line and made their way up the steps.

Barney looked around at the home crowd, filled with blue and yellow. “So, this is the thing to do Friday nights?”

“That’s what I hear,” Clint said, shrugging.

“I feel like an idiot going to a high school football game when I’m older than all those guys on the field.”

Clint quirked a grin. “By that logic, middle-aged people shouldn’t be allowed to go to pro games.”

Barney nudged Clint with his elbow. “Smart ass.”

There was still time before the game was supposed to start, and Clint found his attention wandering. His gaze drifted over the crowd, and he noticed that Bobbi was sitting only a few rows away, talking to a girl he recognized from one of his classes. She looked up, caught his eye, and nodded, a hint of a smile on her face. Clint gave her a small wave, then turned back to the pre-game movement on the field.

“Who’s that?” Barney asked.

“She’s in my English class,” Clint lied. It was the first thing that came to mind that wouldn’t make Barney ask questions. Although, depending on how far this thing went.... He didn’t want to lie to his mother, but it would be much harder to hide a girlfriend from Barney, fake or not. Eventually, he would have to introduce Bobbi to Barney as someone he was dating. Still, this was a good way to lay the groundwork if Barney asked how they’d met.

He could always tell him the truth, but for some reason, he didn’t think that was a good idea. Barney was blood, and the two of them had been through the type of harrowing trials together that meant that no one in the world understood Clint the way his brother did, but still...something held him back.

Music came on over the loudspeaker, and the announcer took over, introducing the team and the players. None of the names were familiar to Clint—which was to be expected, since he’d barely met anyone yet.

The ref threw the coin, and a few minutes later, the game started. Clint was surprised to see that the team was pretty good. He’d never played more advanced than tag football in the park when he was little, but it was clear that this was a team that practiced a lot and worked in sync. The quarterback had a strong arm, but more than that—the linemen and the runners watched out for each other, and the receivers moved quickly and deftly to find open spots. He wasn’t surprised when the team took an early lead and kept it up.

“What do you think?” he asked Barney at halftime, as the cheerleaders started to take their places on the field.

The band started up, and he missed Barney’s response, but from the expression on his face, it was better than the little he’d expected.

They won the game by a comfortable margin while the announcer sang the praises of the quarterback, a guy named Rogers with a 20 on his shirt. Clint found himself cheering along at points, and even Barney let out a little whoop as the final buzzer went off.

“Look at us,” Barney said once they got into the car. “Spending our Friday nights at a high school sporting event.”

“And enjoying it, too,” Clint added.

“And making it home before midnight,” Barney added. He tilted his head. “That part’s a little sad.”

Clint sighed and looked at the dashboard clock. Ten-fifteen. “Yeah.”

“Want to drive around town blasting Europop with the windows rolled down until someone calls the cops on us?” Barney suggested.

“Just like old times,” Clint said. “Let’s do it.”


	6. See, I’ve Got This Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Clint go out on a date.

This was a mistake.

Clint had let Bobbi pick out the location for their first “date,” and it turned out to be a real restaurant—with waiters and everything. This apparently was totally normal in her world, and it wasn't even a fancy restaurant where he had to wear a suit, but he was going to blow it, he was sure. He’d borrowed some money from Barney on top of the twenty that Cross had given him, but what if it wasn’t enough? How much were they supposed to tip? Was fifteen percent standard, or was it an insult? Was he supposed to order for her? What if he didn't have enough cash to cover the bill and the tip together and she hadn't thought to bring cash, and the waiter wouldn't let them leave until they paid? 

That one probably wouldn't happen.

He was supposed to be the experienced one here. What he had told her wasn't quite a lie—he had some experience with romance, but not with _dating_ , like middle-class dating where you give the girl your class ring or letterman jacket or what-the-fuck-ever and then send flowers to her house while her parents tease her about her beau—

_Okay, stop it_. It wasn't the 1950s. He and Bobbi were peers, despite their different backgrounds, and he was sure they'd be able to find some common ground. They'd gotten along pretty well so far, hadn't they?

Still, the diner scene from _Grease_ , the one where Danny tried to win Sandy over, kept  
playing through his head as he and Bobbi followed the hostess to their table. Olivia Newton-John in a high ponytail asking, _What have you ever done?_ He was so obviously mismatched with this nice wholesome girl, something which must have been obvious to anyone who could see them. He looked around at the other tables self-consciously, relieved that no one he recognized from school was there—this place was mostly families.

Their hostess seated them at a small table towards the back, with some room between them and the other customers, and handed them their menus before wishing them a good meal and walking off. Clint quickly skimmed through the prices. It would be tight, but if he skipped a drink and just got a sandwich, then—

“So,” Bobbi said, interrupting his thoughts, “this is—sorry, I don’t have a non-awkward way to say this, but I’ve never been on a date before and I’m uncomfortable with the whole ‘the guy pays for the date’ thing, so can we split this fifty-fifty?”

Thank God.

He fastened a smile onto his face and answered as if he hadn’t been worried to begin with. “No problem. We can just take it out of our weekly joint income, and then split the money afterward.”

“Perfect.”

He wasn’t the only one nervous about this, he realized. Bobbi was fidgeting with her fingers and sneaking covert glances at him from behind her menu, and it occurred to him that she must have been thinking about how to ask him to go dutch the entire time he’d been worried about being able to cover the bill.

Hell, the whole situation was awkward. But honesty was working for them, at least so far. Maybe shining a light on the weirdness of the situation would make it lose its power.

Remembering that he hadn’t been paid in full yet, Clint added, “Only problem is, cheapskate only gave me part of the money in advance, so we’ll have to play it differently this week.”

“Oh, we should have stopped by his place on the way,” Bobbi joked. “With an enforcer. Like big-time drug dealers.”

At the mention of drug dealers, Clint paused. Honesty, right? This could make things awkward.

“What?” she said, noticing his hesitation.

“Nothing, just wondering how you’re going to take it when I tell you how I met Cross in the first place.”

“Don’t tell me you’re some guy’s hired muscle.”

Their waitress came by, and they took a break in the conversion to order. Clint got a sandwich, as planned, and Bobbi ordered chowder and a side of potatoes for herself.

Once the waitress left with their menus, Clint gathered his courage and asked, “How do you feel about marijuana?”

“Well.” She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “What medical research has discovered in the past few years vis-a-vis medical purposes is fascinating, and there’s still so much untapped—” She cut herself off. “But you mean recreationally.”

“Right.”

“No experience.” And that was it. There was no indication that she was opposed to casual partaking—which, he realized, he had assumed she would be, probably unfairly. He’d had this image of her in his mind from the moment he met her that she was some “good girl,” based on the voluntary extra credit project and the disdain that Cross had for her, but she wasn’t really a stereotypical anything.

Biting the bullet, Clint admitted, “My brother started dealing recently and he convinced me to make a delivery for him. That’s how I met Will Cross.”

“Oh.” Bobbi looked unfazed. She paused for a second, then added, “It’s interesting, marijuana’s barely the tip of the iceberg when it comes to illicit drugs that have previously unstudied potential uses for treatment. I mean, hallucinogens, that’s where it gets really interesting. Recent studies have shown significant improvements in patients with anxiety and depression after being treated with psilocybin, and even—” She cut herself off. “People are staring at me, aren’t they?”

He laughed and took a cursory look around. “Just that five-year-old over there. I don’t think her parents have noticed yet, so you’re in the clear.”

“Perfect.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “Should we talk about topics that are less likely to get us thrown out? You know, I don’t really know much about you yet. Maybe you can tell me something about yourself.”

That was a tricky one. He hadn’t yet decided how open he wanted to be about his life with his new classmates, and as open-minded as Bobbi seemed to be, he’d still only met her a few days ago. He racked his brain for something to say that would interest her without revealing something he wasn’t ready to share.

The food arrived while he was thinking, giving him a grace period. Once they had privacy again, he said, “Well, you know my parents are divorced. My brother and I live with my mom; he’s a few years older. That’s not very interesting. Okay. How about this: I’m weirdly good at archery.”

“Really.” She looked impressed, and he was glad he’d gone with that. “Where’d you learn that?”

Good; he could talk about this for hours, and he so rarely got a chance to do so. “Okay, so I was a big comics fan when I was younger; like, obsessed. You know Green Arrow?”

She nodded. “Dresses in green, shoots arrows. Wonder where he thought of the name.”

He laughed. “That’s the one. Anyway, I wanted to be just like him, obviously, because kids are kids. My dad wouldn’t let me take lessons, but there was this country club in town that had archery lessons, and I used to sneak in and watch. When anyone asked, I'd say I was waiting for my father who was playing golf—they had a golf course, too—until the teacher figured it out, but we worked out a deal where I'd do some odd jobs around the club and he'd let me join in the lessons.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven? Eight, maybe.”

“Seven or eight and you were sneaking into country clubs?”

“I was...independent. Anyway, when my parents got divorced, we moved, and I haven’t had the chance to shoot since. I bet I could still hit a bullseye, though.”

“Wow.” She tilted her head, looking at him thoughtfully. “I wonder how you would have turned out if your favorite character had been Martian Manhunter.”

He laughed. “Well, how about you?” Waiting for her answer, he took his first bite of food.

“Okay,” she said. “I also live with my mom and brother. Ben’s a freshman. My mom’s a professor of chemistry, and my dad was never allowed to tell us exactly what his job was, but I know it had to do with numbers or codes or something like that. They would always take their work home and try to teach me and my brother about the things they were interested in, so I learned all of the really math cool stuff years too early to actually use it in school.” 

“‘Cool’ and ‘math’ in the same sentence.” He raised his eyebrows. “Tell me more.”

“Okay, I—wait. You’re making fun of me.”

“Only a little,” he admitted with a grin, “but I do want to hear more.” 

She pursed her lips, thinking it over for a few seconds, then said, “Okay, here’s something cool. I can prove to you that the number of whole numbers in existence is the same as the number of fractions.”

“The same number of whole numbers and fractions? But...don’t fractions include whole numbers?” He was pretty sure they did.

“Yes. That’s why it’s so cool, because it’s counterintuitive.”

“You’re going to prove it to me? In a way that’ll make me believe it?”

“I am.”

“Try me.”

“Okay. So when writing a mathematical proof, you’ve got to define your terms to start with. Because otherwise you’re just saying words, and you can twist anything to mean anything if you haven’t defined your terms from the start.”

“Sure.” What this had to do with any math he’d ever learned, he didn’t know, but he was keeping an open mind.

“So we’re going to define integers and rational numbers. Integers are your whole numbers, including zero and negative numbers. One, two, three, et cetera, zero, negative one, negative two, et cetera. And rational numbers—fractions. More precisely defined as any number that can be expressed as an integer divided by another integer...but for our purposes, fractions.”

“Integers and rational numbers. Got it.”

“Right.” She leaned down and picked her purse up off the floor, rifling through the bag for a pen, then turned her paper placemat over to the blank side and started to draw as she explained the proof. When she finished, she grinned and tapped on the placemat with her pen, eyes shining with delight. “You see? There is no integer that can’t be mapped to a unique rational number and vice versa. Therefore, we can conclude that each set has exactly the same amount of numbers.” She turned to him, eyes shining with delight. “So, do you believe me now?”

He laughed. “I do, and I kind of hate it?”

“Right? It turns everything you thought you knew about math on its head.”

“Not that I thought I knew much about math in the first place. I’ve never been good at school. I used to play cards a lot, though—that’s kind of like math.”

“It can be. People who are really good at doing calculations in their head have a real advantage in some games.”

“Well, I basically just cheated. It was pretty bad, because we played for money.”

“Cheating at a game you’re playing for money...why does that sound so familiar.” The teasing tone in her voice prevented him from taking offense.

“Well, those guys were my friends. I’m not exactly crying over Cross’s wallet getting lighter.”

“Yeah, neither am I.”

\--

As agreed, Clint stopped by Bobbi’s locker the next morning before class, in hopes of jumpstarting the rumors. He made sure to put on a good show by relaxing against the open locker door, leaning his head in close to her as they spoke, and making sure to keep a suggestive smile on his face. For Bobbi’s part, she played it safe, with wary body language, by holding her books in front of her chest and nervously playing with her hair.

“I had a great time yesterday,” Clint said. He leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “I’m meeting with Cross in five minutes. Do you have plans after school?”

“I’ve got an essay for History I need to start on, but I suppose I can spare half an hour for hijinks.”

“Hijinks, eh? It’s a date.” He grinned and winked.

His next appointment was less enjoyable: meeting Cross in the same bathroom where their first deal had gone down and reporting to him on the date. Before agreeing to part with the rest of the money, Cross grilled him: where did they go, what did they talk about, was there any physical contact, did she agree to go on a follow-up date, etc. With each question, Clint felt dirtier and dirtier, but finally, Cross handed him a pack of bills folded in half and clapped him on the shoulder with an easy laugh.

“Good work,” Cross said. “I can’t believe she’s falling for this shit. I love it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Clint checked the bills and put them in his pocket. “Listen, I don’t think meeting in the bathroom like this is a good idea. Too easy to get caught. Plus, I need to be paid before the weekend if I’m going to be wining and dining this girl.”

“I got you.” His hand was still on Clint’s shoulder, making him tamp down on a shudder. “Friday night at the football game. Under the bleachers, five minutes before the coin toss.”

\--

“Pretty,” Clint said.

They were sitting across the lab table from each other, hunched over the test tube rack. In each test tube, Bobbi had mixed several different solutions with sodium hydroxide and copper (II) sulfate. Over the next few minutes, they watched raptly as a few of the samples turned various shades of pink and purple.

“Yeah,” Bobbi agreed. “Pretty and very useful. Let me just record the results and we can go.”

They had plans to meet up with Greer, Hank, and Tony for frozen yogurt so that Clint could meet them properly. Bobbi had discussed it with Greer, and they’d agreed that whenever they were in public, they’d keep up the pretense that Bobbi and Clint were a real couple, to prevent any possibility of the wrong people overhearing and word getting back to Will.

Bobbi swiveled to her computer and started to fill in the results. After saving her spreadsheet and shutting down the computer, she brought the original solutions to the back of the room where the lab refrigerator Dr. Calvin had loaned her was plugged in. The refrigerator had a clear glass door with a Post-It note stuck to it, reading, “Do not touch! Contains delicate research!!!”

She disposed of the experiment and finished tidying up, then turned to Clint. “Ready to go?”

They went out to the parking lot, nearly empty by this hour, except for the handful of students staying for whatever after-school activities were held on Mondays. Bobbi’s car was near the front, and she unlocked both doors with the key before getting inside.

“It’s kind of old,” she said apologetically. “This is—was?—my dad’s car. I’m not sure why my mom thinks that if and when he comes back, he’s going to need to drive the same exact car that he had when he left. Maybe it’s like Odysseus and the dog.”

“Argos,” Clint put in. “We read it in tenth grade.”

“Right.”

“So, if the car starts for your dad, then you’ll know it’s really him?”

She laughed. “Exactly.”

She found street parking across the street, and they walked into the shop, where her friends were waiting. Bobbi slipped her hand into Clint’s as the door closed behind them, which made a tiny shiver run up her spine even though she knew it was just for show. Though Greer and Hank knew the truth about the deal she and Clint had going on, she hadn’t said anything to Tony. There were a few reasons for that, starting with the obvious one, that she just wasn’t as close with Tony. In addition, she didn’t think Tony would understand the money angle. She’d gotten the feeling that Clint needed the money more than she did, although she wasn’t about to start prying, but either way, twenty-five dollars a week probably didn’t have the same ring to it for Tony than it did for most people. And, with his being the best-liked student on campus, Bobbi was sure he wouldn’t relate to the thrill she got from pulling the wool over Cross’s eyes.

She and Clint sat down at their table. “Hank, Greer, Tony. Guys, this is Clint.”

Tony nodded at Clint. “Hey, we met at Jan’s house, right? I mean—” he shot Hank an apologetic look, “— at Jan’s party. Jan and Hank’s house.”

Clint looked confused, so Bobbi explained, “They’re step-siblings. As of two weeks ago.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, nice to meet you all.”

“So, Bobbi’s boyfriend,” Greer said with a teasing glint in her eyes, “where are you from?”

Bobbi shot Greer a warning look, but Clint seemed to take the designation in stride, putting his arm around her and answering, “I grew up in Iowa, but we moved around a bit before my mom fell in love with this place.”

Greer nodded. “Huh. I’d have chosen L.A.”

“Greer,” Bobbi warned. For all that Greer was learned about the world, the fact that her parents were married made her naive about some things, including the fact that a single mother couldn’t just pick up and move anywhere in the world she wanted. To Clint, Bobbi added, “Ignore her. She doesn’t always live in the real world.”

“I just mean, if it were an option,” Greer said defensively.

“Sure,” Clint agreed. “Who wouldn’t want to live right next to the beach?” He looked at Bobbi and gave her an easygoing smile. Right. Maybe she was being a little overprotective.

“Anakin Skywalker, for one,” Hank pointed out.

Clint nodded. “You’ve got me there. That guy does not like sand.”

“Wait, let’s not be hasty,” Greer said. “You’re forgetting that Anakin doesn’t actually know about beaches. His only experience with sand is the desert.”

“True,” said Bobbi, “but even beach sand is coarse and gets everywhere.”

Greer leaned in, speaking animatedly. “Yeah, but when you put it next to the breeze and the waves and the smell of salt in the air, it’s worth the inconvenience. Anakin hasn’t had that experience, so he doesn’t have an informed opinion.”

“All right,” Hank said, putting up his hands, “Retracted.”

“Great. Let’s eat.” Tony stood up. “What’s your poison, Clint? Chocolate, vanilla, cherry caramel confetti cheesecake batter, plain yogurt piled up with toppings for those of us who are still holding on to the idea that frozen yogurt is supposed to be healthy?”

“Oh...I think I’m going to pass,” Clint said. “Lactose sometimes gives me problems, and I kind of feel something coming on already, so I’m going to play it safe.”

“They’ve got vegan options.” Tony pointed to the two soy-based frozen yogurt spigots in the corner.

“Oh!” Clint looked over at where Tony was pointing. He paused for a few seconds, and then said, “Okay. Cool. I’ll get that.”

He’d gotten something with cheese at their date the other night, and that combined with his hesitation about the soy yogurt made Bobbi suspect that he didn’t actually have a lactose problem. She leaned in and whispered into his ear, “This counts as a dating expense, right?” He gave her a look like he didn’t understand, so she turned to the rest of the group. “Sorry, just one second.”

She brought him outside so that they could speak more freely. “Cross gave you the rest of last week’s money, right?”

“Yeah.” He nodded in the direction of his backpack. “Sorry, I forgot to give you your half.”

“It’s fine, it can wait. I was just saying, we should use that money for the frozen yogurt. This is kind of like a date, isn’t it?”

“Sure.” He looked behind her, through the glass windows of the shop. “Are you prepared for your friends to think you’re letting a boy pay for your food, though?”

She rolled her eyes but let a smile play at the corner of her lips. “Please. They know it’s none of their business.”

Crisis averted, they went back inside. Clint got a chocolate soy yogurt with minimal toppings, and Bobbi chose a dairy salted caramel for herself.

“So,” Greer said to Clint, “you’re in my math class.”

“That’s right—I knew you looked familiar.”

“What do you think so far?”

“It’s all right. I just got an amazing crash course in math a few days ago, so I’m pretty sure I’m going to ace the semester.”

Bobbi could feel her face heating up, especially when he sent a wink her way. Being complimented for her skills in public by a cute boy was a rush, even though she wasn’t sure whether he meant it or was only saying it for show. Over Clint’s shoulder, she could see Greer’s eyes widen, a grin spreading over her face.

_Keeper!_ , Greer mouthed, giving her a thumbs-up.

Bobbi flushed even harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested in the proof Bobbi gives Clint (it's a really cool proof!), I’ll be putting it up on my Tumblr.


	7. Be a Good Sport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to know some of the side characters a bit better.

The ball dropped into the hoop and bounced against the pavement.

“That’s game,” Tony said. He collected the ball, and he and Steve made their way to the bench next to the court. As he drained his water bottle, he got in a few looks at Steve, who was covered in a sheen of sweat, his face red and his lips shiny. It wasn’t a sexual thing exactly—the two of them were long over, and Tony was a big part of that decision, and he knew they weren’t going to get back together. He frankly didn’t want to get back together. But that didn’t mean he was blind.

During one of his sneak glances, Steve caught him looking and raised his eyebrows. Tony shrugged in response, and Steve let out one of his good-natured laughs that reminded Tony what he’d seen in him in the first place.

“So apparently, there was a scout at the game on Friday,” Steve said.

Tony emptied the last few drops of water over his head. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Coach Molina didn’t tell me about it until afterwards because he didn’t want me to be nervous. But he said the guy was impressed.”

“That’s great.”

“On the one hand, it’s awesome, but on the other hand, it’s _college football_. If I think I’m putting in a lot of hours now, that’s nothing compared to playing for a college team. But on the other hand, I started looking at colleges and at how much they cost, and...I mean, I knew college was expensive, but I don’t want to be paying it off until I’m in my forties. And if I can get a football scholarship, that would take off such a load, but I just don’t know if I want to play football all throughout college, you know?”

Tony gave him a look. Of course he knew—that was why he had quit football at the end of last year’s season, skipping out on the glory of being a varsity senior. He loved the game, but it was too much of a time commitment, and it had overwhelmed every single one of his other interests until the decision to quit had become almost easy. At the time, Steve was the one who hadn’t understood, and the arguments they’d had about it had been the final nail in their waning relationship. Looking back on it, Tony thought that maybe the relationship had already been over, and Steve had been hoping that their being on the team together could somehow delay the inevitable.

“Sorry, I know you know,” Steve acknowledged. “I just mean, when else am I gonna get the chance for four years to just...live on a college campus and soak it up and learn anything I want?”

“Right.”

“On the other hand, Coach says I could go pro.”

Tony frowned. Captain of the varsity team was one thing, but it was hard for him to imagine Steve doing this for a living. Like him, Steve had other interests and hobbies—art and music in Steve’s case—and it was hard to imagine professional sports satisfying him. Still, it was a sensitive subject between the two of them, so Tony didn’t say anything.

“Speaking of college, how’s Rhodey doing?” Steve asked.

Rhodey was another of Tony’s close friends, a year older than him and somewhat of a mentor. Like him, Rhodey had also juggled football, APs, and a whole slew of robotics and engineering clubs and summer programs. In fact, seeing the way that Rhodey had seemed to handle everything so well had inspired Tony. And still, Rhodey had been the one who’d advised him to take it easy, after pointing out the dark circles under Tony’s eyes and noticing the buildup of empty Red Bull cans in Tony’s car. Tony had been afraid of letting his friends down, but when Rhodey admitted that he himself had no intention of playing football in college and wasn’t even sure that playing his senior year was the right thing to have done, Tony had finally given himself permission to drop the sport.

It hadn’t been as easy as it had seemed in the moment. Steve had felt betrayed, or left behind, or something—it had always been hard to get a read on him. Tony had been attracted to the strong, silent vibe when they’d first met, but towards the end of their relationship, they’d fought _all the time_. It seemed like every word out of Tony’s mouth had gotten on Steve’s nerves, and Tony eventually got fed up trying to understand what Steve was thinking when he wouldn’t talk. After the breakup, they hadn’t spoken for months.

The break was right, though, and slowly, it seemed like they were becoming friends again. Hanging out like this was a good start.

“Rhodey’s good,” Tony answered. “He likes his classes, likes living on campus...not that it’s been that long.”

“And he’s not playing, right?”

“Right.”

Steve was quiet, looking lost in thought. “Listen, there’s something I wanted to bring up, and I’ve been kind of dreading it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, everything’s fine. It’s just. After the game last week, we all went out to celebrate, and I walked Sam home, and, uh—we. Kissed.”

“Oh.” The image popped into his head of Steve and Sam kissing, and he took a few seconds to think it over. A few months ago, it would have devastated him. But now? It felt a little strange, maybe a slight twinge of wistfulness for What Could Have Been, but that was it. “Well, you don’t need my permission—”

“I know, Tone, but I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to hurt our...friendship.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a friendship if I couldn’t be happy for you when you’ve got a new boyfriend, right?”

Steve’s cheekbones turned pink. “I don’t know if we’re quite there yet. It was just one kiss.”

“I didn’t even know he liked guys.”

“He’s bi, like you. He’s not out yet, but he said I could tell you.”

Tony shook his head and laughed, impressed. “He’s gotta be a saint, waiting for you to talk things over with your ex before giving him a chance.”

“I think he just wants to do this right. And so do I.”

“Not just a rebound, huh? Well, listen, Sam’s a great guy, and we’re friends, no matter what. Right?”

“Yeah, of course.” 

“So go for it.”

Steve gave him a grateful smile that put butterflies in his stomach. Okay, so maybe there were some residual feelings. But that was how breakups worked, right? Feelings for someone weren’t an on/off switch. It was going to be okay, though. He was moving on, even if the going was slow.

“Do you ever regret quitting football?” Steve asked after a minute. Hastily, he added, “There’s no right or wrong answer. I’m just curious.”

Tony considered the question. Football _had_ been great for him. As a kid, he’d spent all his time inside with his computers and robots, and his mother signed him up for youth league when he was seven and dragged him to practice every week because she was worried that all of his muscles aside from his brain would atrophy. (“Technically, the brain isn’t a muscle,” Tony had pointed out. It hadn’t helped.) Eventually, he grew to love the game, to feel at home running down the field, listening for the whistling sound of the ball flying through the air, and knowing exactly where to put himself to catch it and to just keep running.

Not to mention the friendships. If not for youth league, his socialization skills would have been sorely stunted, and if not for the high school team, he wouldn’t have gotten to know some of the most important people in his life. Football was how he met Rhodey. Hell, football was how he met _Steve_.

Did he miss it? Sure, a little. He missed the smell of the grass and of the spray paint they used to mark the lines of the field. He missed the way it felt to outrun a cornerback, to push his legs harder and harder and to reach the point where he knew they would never get him. And he missed being tackled, falling to the ground and bouncing right back up, getting ready for the next play.

But when he stayed up late working on a project just for fun, or slept in on a Saturday morning, or sat in the stands cheering the players on, he had no regrets. 

\--

Bobbi got out of her car and looked for Clint in the crowd. They'd decided to sit together at the game this Friday night and go public as a couple—or a “couple.” Hank and Tony were flying out to the East Coast for the weekend for college tours, and Greer had made plans to sit with Emma Frost and her crowd so that Bobbi could make a proper appearance with her new boyfriend. 

Boyfriend. It was a hard concept to wrap her mind around.

His brother was supposed to sit with them, too. That, she had to admit, she was a little nervous about. What did one say to the brother of one’s fake boyfriend?

In the parking lot, she spotted the back of Clint's head. He was standing next to a guy of similar build with dark red hair—the brother, she assumed.

She called out to Clint, and both of them turned. Clint smiled when he saw her; the brother narrowed his eyes. The protective type, then. Clint introduced her to Barney, who kept his wary expression throughout.

“All right, then,” Clint said with a little bit of forced cheer. “Should we get our tickets?”

They ran into Greer and Emma in line, which broke the awkward silence.

“Have you met Clint?” Bobbi asked Emma after the initial greetings.

Emma leaned back to give him a very obvious perusal, looking him up and down slowly. “Emma Frost. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” Clint said, but he took a step closer to Bobbi. He put a hand on Barney's shoulder and said, “This is my brother, Barney.”

“Good to meet you,” Barney said, without any trace of the suspicious look he'd worn when meeting Bobbi. It added more fuel to her ‘overprotective’ theory.

“I recognize you from this morning, right?” Clint said to Emma. The sit-in had gotten a pretty good turnout, in the end. The extra signs they’d brought hadn’t been enough for all the students who’d decided to join, and classes had started a full ten minutes late. The administration had yet to issue a response.

“Yep, that was us,” Greer confirmed. 

“It was cool,” Clint said. “You really made your voices heard.”

“Thanks.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I don't know if it'll change anything, but at least it starts the conversation, you know?”

Emma spoke up, having dropped the flirting act. “If it gets picked up by the school newspaper, or if we luck out and it makes waves on social media, then we might see some reevaluation on the administration's part.”

Bobbi crossed her fingers. “Here's hoping.”

They reached the front of the line and bought tickets, and then Greer and Emma left to sit with Emma’s friends. Once they were gone, Clint turned to her. “What’s that accent, British?”

“Yeah, don’t ask,” Bobbi said. “She’s not actually British. She grew up in Connecticut, I think? Who knows, maybe everyone from Connecticut speaks that way—I’ve never been there. It’s funny; she’s spoken this way ever since I’ve known her and I don’t even notice it anymore.”

They found seats, but before Bobbi could even get comfortable, Clint discreetly showed her his watch, which read six minutes to eight. Meaning that it was time for him to meet up with Will to collect the money. Bobbi nodded, then watched as Clint tapped Barney’s shoulder on the other side, then made a hand motion like he was turning a key in a lock. He got up and walked off into the crowd, leaving Bobbi alone with his brother.

She wanted to ask about the hand motion—Was it sign language? Did one of them have hearing issues?—but she didn’t know how it would be received. Barney hadn’t said a word to her all evening. Maybe he was just shy, but she didn’t want to take a chance and have him think she was prying. She’d just have to ask Clint later.

_Come on, you can do this_ , Bobbi told herself. If she could make conversation with Clint, there was no reason why she shouldn’t be able to do so with his brother. _Say something about medical marijuana. Say something about superheroes. Just say_ something _, for the love of God._

She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Just because he was Clint’s brother didn’t mean that he would be amused by the same things that interested Clint. What if he thought she was a complete dork? Well, she _was_ , so that would be fair, but what if he found it annoying rather than charming? She didn’t want Clint’s brother to think she was annoying.

Bobbi opened her mouth and said the first thing that came out. “Do you know what time it is?” 

_Oh, God._ That was pathetic. 

Barney wasn't wearing a watch, so he pulled a phone out of his pocket. He gave her a strange look, no doubt wondering why she didn't simply look at her own phone. “Seven fifty-eight,” he said. 

Bobbi nodded, wishing she could sink into the ground. “Thanks.”

Clint returned just as they were starting the coin toss, and she could finally breathe again.


	8. East Coast Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We check in on Hank, Jan, and Tony. Clint and Bobbi go on another date.

Despite the sensory nightmare of the airport and the prospect of spending all weekend with Janet, Hank was looking forward to this trip.

On the one hand, he didn’t love the idea that Janet’s father’s money was paying for him to fly first-class to the East Coast to look at Ivy League colleges when the University of Chicago was practically next door _and_ was among the highest-ranked schools in the country. But when he’d said that out loud, his mother’s response was, “No one’s going to stop you from applying to whatever college you want, honey. We just want you to have options.”

Which, weirdly enough, was more than Tony had. Howard had a very short list of colleges he would allow Tony to attend, which was why the only non-Ivy school they were looking at on this trip was the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

But, if he ignored where the money was coming from, it was pretty cool to be getting student tours of elite East Coast schools. MIT was Hank’s dream school, and he was itching to see its labs. As for the others—the idea of walking around the historic campuses of Harvard, Yale, and Princeton and being treated like a prospective student was intimidating, but also exciting.

A TSA agent waved the three of them into the security check area. After seeing what everyone else was doing, Hank pulled off his shoes and dropped them into the bin, praying that nobody would happen to glance at his feet. He’d always had a problem with sock seams irritating his toes, and when he was a kid and newly-diagnosed, his mom had gone out of her way to buy special seamless socks, but he'd had a habit of losing them, and they were expensive to replace. His occupational therapist had suggested the trick of wearing regular socks inside out, which had worked, and had thus been Hank’s standard way to wear socks ever since.

But the socks weren’t the worst of it.

“Please step into the scanner,” the TSA agent up ahead said to him, indicating the backscatter scanner ahead of him.

Okay. He’d never been in one of these before, but—

He noticed that the machine had a studded rubber floor. Oh, no. He had a problem with textured floors—they made his toes curl and produced an involuntary gag response, which he really didn’t want to go through in public.

Still, it wasn’t like he had a choice. Hank stepped into the booth on his tiptoes, trying to balance with his feet in the marked footprints, raising his hands over his head like the picture indicated.

The agent cleared his throat and spoke sharply. “Sir, please put your heels on the ground.”

Figured. It wasn’t as if standing on his toes could help him hide explosives that standing normally would expose, but he knew better than to argue with the agent. Hank lowered his heels, breathing deeply in a controlled manner in order to stay calm. The feeling of the studs set his teeth on edge, and he could feel his chest expand and contract rapidly as he tried very hard to stay still.

“Okay, next,” the guard called, and Hank let his eyes close, a relieved sigh escaping his lungs.

His problems weren’t over, though. While collecting the items he’d put through the x-ray machine, he found that his backpack was missing. A look around revealed that it had been sent to the line for manual inspection.

“Did you leave a water bottle in there or something?” Tony whispered to him.

Hank shook his head. “I double-checked before we got in line.”

There were a few other bags to be checked before his, and his anxiety level rose with every bag the agent at the table went through. The people in front of him sheepishly threw out their toothpaste and drinks. Finally, it was his turn. The x-ray scan of his bag went up on the screen.

“What’s in here?” the agent asked him.

“Um.” Hank looked at the picture. “Wallet, keys, gum, blanket...”

She unzipped the bag and pulled out Hank’s weighted blanket. “This is a blanket?” she asked in a dry tone.

Was that a trick question? “Yes?” Hank tried.

She narrowed her eyes and glanced at the scanned image again. “It doesn’t look like a blanket on the screen.” She pressed on the blanket, then picked up a corner and examined it with her fingers. “What’s inside of it?”

People were staring, and Hank felt his face grow hot. “It’s a weighted blanket,” he said in a lowered voice.

“A what?”

He knew he should have packed it in the suitcase. He’d decided to bring it in the carry-on because he thought it might be useful on the plane, but he should have anticipated this.

“A weighted blanket,” he repeated, making his voice a tad louder but still trying to avoid being overheard. “It’s filled with plastic pellets. It helps with...anxiety.” Oh, God, _please_ let Janet not have heard that.

The agent looked at him for a second and then called a colleague over. The two of them whispered for a few nerve-wracking minutes, and then she stuffed the blanket back into the backpack and zipped it up. “Have a good flight,” she said as she handed him the bag.

“Thanks,” he responded automatically as he took the bag with clammy hands. He held onto the straps tightly, fingernails digging into his palms, and turned to Tony and Janet, who were waiting a few feet away.

Janet was looking at him oddly. “You know, they have blankets in Boston,” she said.

Hank took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I like mine.”

“Oookay.”

The flight itself was uneventful, although Hank definitely needed to use his blanket on the plane to recover from the airport experience. Fortunately, the first-class seats had little walls for privacy, and Janet wasn’t paying him much attention anyway.

After landing, they took a cab to their hotel. The plan was for the three of them to get settled in at the hotel and make it an early night so that they’d be ready to start tours early Saturday morning. Hank’s mother and Janet’s father would meet them at Harvard in the morning, and they’d chaperone the rest of the trip. Tony’s parents were apparently in China on business.

In the elevator, Janet turned to Hank and Tony. “Where are we going tonight?” she asked.

“What are you talking about?” Hank said.

“I’m talking about...it’s Friday night and we’re in a new city with no adult supervision?”

“Yeah, but it’s already almost midnight, and the car will be here at seven-thirty. I don’t want to show up late to Harvard. Do you?”

Janet raised her hand to chest level and rocked it back and forth, making an “eh” gesture. The elevator dinged at their floor and the door opened.

They rolled their suitcases down the hall to their room, and Janet said, “There’s no way we’re not taking advantage of this opportunity. I’ve never been to Boston before, and I’m _not_ squandering this chance.”

Hank sighed. “Do what you want; it’s already late enough. I’m staying in.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Go to bed with your weird blankie and waste your youth sleeping; what do I care? Tony, where are we going?”

Tony looked between the two of them. “Um.”

“I’ll let you think about it.” Janet unlocked the door of her room and went inside, and Tony followed Hank into their room.

“I don’t have to go,” Tony said.

Hank laid his suitcase down on the floor and unzipped it. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “What are you going to do, send her out all alone in a strange city?”

“Don’t let her hear that,” Tony said. “She’s not exactly a damsel in distress.”

“It’s not about her, it’s about the world we live in.” Hank opened up one of the dresser drawers and started to load clothing into it.

Tony sighed. “Sure I can’t convince you to come out?”

Hank turned and gave Tony a look that answered the question for him.

“I just think you could use some fun,” Tony said.

“Hard for me to have fun around people I don’t trust.” Hank’s eyes flickered to the door, making it clear that it was Janet he was referring to, not Tony.

“She’s your step-sister. I know you didn’t have a choice, but you do live in the same house, and you’re just going to be miserable all year if you don’t learn to trust her. She doesn’t understand why you turned down her invitation to her party the other week. Open up to her, or at least tell her about your SPD.”

“And then, what, she’ll magically change personalities? If she can’t stand me now, what difference will a doctor’s note make?”

“You’re underestimating her,” Tony said.

“I’m _estimating_ her based on past behavior,” Hank said. “I’ve told people about my diagnosis before. Remember David from camp?”

“Jan’s not David from camp.”

“You always see the best in everyone,” Hank said, sighing.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Hank didn’t answer.

“Hank,” Tony said.

Hank shook his head. “Go out tonight. Have fun. I’ll be fine.”

Tony hesitated, but in the end, he went. And then, after all the stink Hank had made about getting a good night’s rest, of _course_ he couldn’t sleep. It figured.

He tried breathing techniques, he tried different sleeping positions, he tried covering himself up to his neck in the weighted blanket, but nothing worked. Eventually, he gave up and opened a book, reading until he heard the rustling at the door that meant that Tony was returning. To avoid being caught out, he quickly shoved his book under the pillow and pretended to be asleep, and eventually, thankfully, he drifted off.

He looked like crap in the morning, the mirror showing him a wan face with dark circles under his eyes. Fortunately, he’d brought a pair of dark sunglasses along, and he put them on, which helped to dull the ache behind his eyes. Tony was still in the shower, so he took the elevator down to the lobby alone. Hank headed straight for the coffee machine, where he ran into Janet, who was pouring plain black coffee into a 16-ounce cup. He noticed that she was also wearing sunglasses, although hers were, of course, much more fashionable than his.

“Morning,” she said, her voice as groggy as he felt. She finished pouring and handed him the pitcher. “Ready for Harvard?”

\--

The rec center was a sprawling single-story giant, containing a bowling alley next to a full arcade and pool hall. It was Clint’s first time there, and he and Bobbi had agreed in advance to stick to the arcade area, which apparently got the most traffic from the high school crowd and therefore was the best place for them to be spotted by their classmates.

He saw her waiting at the entrance and smiled. She was dressed casually in jeans and a gray tee with a large picture of DNA—as he got closer, he saw that the picture was made out of the letters T, C, A, and G, over and over in what seemed to be a random order. He definitely needed to have paid better attention in biology to understand what that meant, but it looked cute on her either way.

Bobbi spotted him and waved. He hurried over and stopped when he reached her. If it had been a real date, he probably would have greeted her with a kiss on the cheek at least, but he didn’t want to surprise her with that. So he made sure not to touch her as he approached. “Hey. You look great.”

She looked down at herself. “I wasn’t sure if I should dress up, or...”

“No, not for a place like this. It’s perfect.” He himself was wearing a plain faded black shirt and jeans, so they matched pretty well.

Inside, they walked around the arcade for a bit before stopping at a basketball booth. “Two-player game?” he asked.

“Let’s do it.”

He wasn’t much of a basketball player, and apparently, neither was she, but they managed not to completely embarrass themselves, getting a few baskets each. They fared slightly better with the dance machine but really got to show off their talents at air hockey, which turned out to be a tight game between two well-matched opponents.

He finally got the puck by her for the final point and threw his hands up in celebration. “What did I tell you? Undefeated!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said good-naturedly. Then she added something else, but he couldn’t quite make it out in the dim arcade lighting with all the game noises in the background.

He sat down on the air hockey table and leaned back. The air blew against his hands, tickling him. Bobbi took a furtive look around and then hopped up next to him. Their sides brushed against each other for a second, before she scooted over, and he couldn’t help but have a reaction to the almost-intimate touch. As fleeting as it had been.

He turned to her. “So, what’s next?”

“Racing games?” she suggested. Now that she was so close, it was easier to make out what she was saying. “First-person shooter? Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “How are you with Skee-ball? It’s basically archery for bowlers.” At his raised eyebrow, she laughed and added, “Well, the target is similar!”

“And the motion is completely different,” he said. “But sure, let’s play. Let’s make it interesting. What does winner get?”

“The satisfaction of—” she began.

“Boo, that’s not a prize!”

His uncharacteristic rudeness set her off in giggles, which was something he’d never seen before and was unexpectedly endearing. He’d have to watch out or he might develop actual feelings for this girl. _Out of your league_ , he thought, as he glanced at her shirt with the reference he didn’t understand.

“Fine,” she amended. “Loser has to bake cookies for the winner.”

She won, of course.

“It’s really a completely different motion from archery,” Clint found himself saying as they walked away.

“I’m sure,” she agreed impassively. “My favorite is peanut butter. Don’t forget the fork criss-cross; it’s the most important part.”

“I would never, and I’m insulted you felt like you needed to say something.”

She laughed. “Are you hungry?”

“I could get pizza.”

“Good, because that’s literally all they have to eat here. Come on.”

She pulled him over to the food court, where they got two slices and sat down in a booth.

“Lactose intolerant, huh?” she said, looking over at his plate.

Clint was confused for a second until he remembered the frozen yogurt. He winced. “I’m not...actually...” he admitted. Although he wasn’t quite ready to open up completely.

“Yeah, I kind of figured. You’re not great at lying.”

“Sorry.”

She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not...I mean, we have an arrangement. If you want to make up fake food sensitivities for whatever reason...” Her voice trailed off, and he suddenly felt queasy.

“I promise I won’t lie to you again,” he blurted out.

She blinked, taken aback, but after a second, a hint of a smile started to play at the edges of her lips. “All right, then.”

They started to eat in a more comfortable silence.

“You know what we need to do before we leave?” Clint said once he’d finished his slice.

“What?”

“That claw game? I’ve gotta win you something.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Come on!”

“I have to! It’s in the boyfriend’s handbook.”

“No way are you wasting our hard-earned scam money on some rigged, impossible-to-win—”

He interrupted. “I’ll have you know that I _never_ miss at that game.”

That stopped her. “Really?”

“Really.”

She frowned, but said, “Okay. One shot. But that’s it.”

One shot was all he needed, somehow managing to get the claw around a panda plush doll and bringing it over to the chute. “Ha!”

“A teddy bear _and_ homemade cookies. I could get used to this whole fake-boyfriend thing,” Bobbi said, holding the bear to her chest and grinning. He had no witty comeback for that, just a feeling like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed on his heart.

When they’d worn themselves out on the packaged suburban adolescent experience of the rec center, they decided to go for a walk. The weather was nice, and there was a side street a few blocks with less traffic and more scenery.

“It was nice meeting your friends the other day,” Clint said.

“I’m so lucky to have them. Hank and I have been best friends since...forever, I don’t even know. Since we were in diapers, maybe. And Greer and I were assigned to a project together in tenth grade and just hit it off. Tony’s more Hank’s friend, but he’s cool. Everybody likes Tony.” She looked at him. “How about you? Do you miss your friends from your old school?”

“Oh,” he said, surprised by the question. “Um...I’ve moved around a few times since my parents split up. So most of my friends in the last place we lived were just surface-level. We hung out because we lived near each other, but I feel like none of them ever knew the real me. Well, except—” He hesitated, then went all in. “There was this girl.”

Bobbi laughed. “Of course there was.”

“I shouldn’t be talking about other girls on a date.” He knew this, but she didn’t look offended.

“Eh, go for it. We’re getting to know each other, right? And anyway, this isn’t a real date, so we don’t have to follow the ‘rules.’ Who was the girl?”

“There were a few girls, actually. I mean—I had this tendency to fall in love quickly and, like...fall hard. Anyway, she was the first. This was right after my parents’ divorce, and I was an angry little runt, and so was she, for different reasons. I fell for her, but she didn’t feel the same way about me. And then her family moved away, and we lost touch.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, actually,” he added cautiously, “I promised myself this year I was turning over a new leaf. Take a break from romantic entanglements.” He let out a nervous huff of laughter. “Another bad thing to say on a date. I’m on a roll here.”

“Still not a real date.” She gave him an easy smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

There was a park on their left, a modest playground surrounded by plenty of grass and trees. It was too early in the season for the leaves to change color, so the whole scene was a lush green-on-green landscape.

“Want to sit?” he asked.

They made their way into the park and sat down at a wooden picnic table in the shade of a nearby elm tree. The overhanging branches left little patterns of shadow and light on their faces, giving the setting an almost fairy-tale feel.

“So,” Bobbi said, “I noticed last night that you and Barney were using hand signals to communicate.”

He didn’t remember offhand, but it was possible. He and Barney had developed a few rudimentary hand signals when they were younger, to warn each other about their father’s mood without him catching on, and they’d added a few more concepts to the vocabulary over the years. It had driven the other kids crazy in the foster home they’d spent a few months in, which had only encouraged them. They only had a few signals, but it made communication of a few basic concepts much simpler, especially in crowded settings like the game had been. It made him wonder why more people didn’t have a similar system.

“Is it sign language?” she asked.

“No, it’s just some stuff we made up—” he stopped to consider his words, not quite ready to delve fully into his history, then continued, “—as a secret language, when we didn’t want our parents to overhear. Anyway, I have this tendency to drift off into space, and it’s easier to catch my attention by catching my eye with movement than by calling my name.”

“Oh.” She mulled it over. “You and your brother seem a lot closer than me and my brother.”

_Traumatic experiences will do that to you_ , he thought. Then he corrected himself, remembering that Bobbi and her family had been through a traumatic experience of their own. So maybe some traumas brought people closer together and some pushed them apart.

“What’s your brother like?” Clint asked.

“He just started high school this year. We’re very different. He’s basically never home; he’s always out with friends. When I was his age, I had one friend, and I just saw him at school and occasionally spoke to him on the phone. So basically, he’s normal.” She laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Ben pretends I don’t exist when we pass each other in the hall at school.”

“Was he always like that?”

“You mean, is it because of what happened with my dad?” She sighed. “I don’t know. He was a kid when it happened. My mom—I told you she thinks he’s on a job, right?”

He nodded.

“Well, that was what she always said, and we always believed her, but...sometime over the past year, Ben got it into his head that our dad’s dead and our mom’s delusional, and that makes for some _really_ fun family dinners, let me tell you.”

“I bet.”

“And she’s...she’s a professor, she’s a genius, she’s Dr. Susan Morse. You know? She’s always been my role model. So I always just took her at her word. But just because someone is really smart doesn’t mean they’re always right. And lately, I’ve been wondering.”

“Wondering?”

“What if she’s wrong? What if he left us, or if he’s dead, or whatever...and how do I...how do I handle that? Like, I have a certain image in my head of who my father is, but it’s incomplete. If I found out that he left us, it would have to be completely revised. But what if he just stays disappeared and we never find out what happened? Then I would never know who my father was. Is. Or was.”

She looked at him, and he wanted to say something about his own father and how he wished he’d never had to find out who his father was. But that would be taking her problems and making them about him, and in any case, he didn’t want to say _My father used to beat me_ out loud, didn’t want the label that went along with something like that. It was easier to just pretend his parents were divorced like everyone else’s parents were divorced.

\--

The bell rang, ending math class. Clint stacked his books, but as he started to stand up, Will Cross passed by his desk, dropping a folded sheet of paper onto Clint’s desk. Clint sat down again, not wanting any eyes on him when he opened whatever this was. He waited while his teacher and the other students shuffled out of the room, and, once the coast was clear, Clint unfolded the note and read it.

_I’ll throw in an extra 20 for PDA!!!_

What a creep. Clint rolled his eyes and tore the note in half. He started to sweep the pieces from the desk to his hand when he noticed a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He looked around, realizing for the first time that he wasn’t the only one who’d stayed behind in the classroom. Greer was there, in the seat behind him, waiting for him to turn around. It was clear she’d been watching...and had probably even read the note over his shoulder.

“I—” he started, twisting around in his seat so that he could talk to her, but she cut him off with her hand.

“So. What are your intentions with my best friend?”

Yep, she’d definitely seen the note. “Bobbi and I are on the same page,” he said. “I’m not going behind her back.”

“Don’t worry, I know about _that_.” She pointed to scraps of Cross’s note. “I was all for it, at first, but I don’t know. I don’t like you making nice with that guy.”

“I know; he’s the worst. I totally agree with you.”

“I don’t like the way he talks about Bobbi.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Good. Because if I catch you talking that way about her, I might just have to step on you with these tiger shoes. Ruse or no ruse.”

“I won’t—I don’t,” Clint promised. She still looked unsettled, so he added, “I know she’s your best friend, and I promise, I’m on her side. Bobbi’s great. Really. And she’s lucky to have you looking out for her.”

Greer looked thoughtful, raising Clint’s hopes to the idea that he’d won her over. But then she looked at him and frowned. “You know,” she said, “when Bobbi told me about this scheme, I thought it was hilarious, but I didn’t take into account that the lines between the game and real feelings might get blurred. I’m starting to think that this isn’t going to end well; that someone is going to get hurt.” She stood up and picked up the pieces of Cross’s note, tearing them further before walking them over to the trash. As she threw out the papers, she dusted off her hands, as if to get rid of any possible skin cells left by Cross. 

She looked over at Clint and sighed. “And it might very well be you.”


	9. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jan distracts herself from college worries, and Bobbi gets to know Clint a little better.

“So, tell me about college,” Jen said.

They were at the mall, Jen having decided that shopping was just what Jan needed to decompress after her bursting-at-the-seams weekend. The milkshakes they’d gotten on the way had helped, but browsing the racks at Jan’s favorite stores was the best way to clear her head.

Jan ran her fingers along the hangers. “It was all very impressive.” She sighed. “Not what I’m looking for—at all—but very impressive.”

“Have you spoken with your dad about wanting to study fashion?” Jen asked.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t take it seriously. As far as he’s concerned, any basic education includes a STEM degree. Of course, I should take a class or two in history for the sake of being ‘well-rounded,’ but art? Fashion? Those are hobbies at most.”

“Harsh.” Jen shook her head.

Jan picked up a dress, looked it over, then put it back on the rack and turned to Jen. “He expects me to be this mini-him, and it’s not me. I love his books as much as the next person, but that doesn’t mean I want to be his successor, you know? I’m just not that interested in other dimensions. Let’s fix the one we’re in first before bringing our messes to the rest of the multiverse. Not that fashion is going to save the world, but still.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Jen said. “Most jobs don’t save the world. If you can have a career that you love, that’s still more than a good percentage of the people out there.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to remember that when you’re off saving people from death’s row or protecting immigrants or...”

Jen laughed. “See, this is why I love you. Most people think of lawyers as snakes who make their livings ensuring that criminals don’t pay for their crimes. _Not_ that I’ve decided yet what I want to do with the freaking rest of my life,” she added hastily.

“Whatever you do, I’m sure it’ll make the world a better place.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be saving the world on weekends,” Jen said. They moved over to the next rack, and she _hmmmed_ while looking at the clothing there. “Maybe I’ll be a professional volleyball player.”

“Is that a real thing?” Jan asked, genuinely curious. “Outside of the Olympics?”

“They try and start a league every few years, but it never really goes anywhere. People seriously underestimate the game.” Jen picked up a sleeveless yellow shirt with a black Peter Pan collar and small velvet buttons. “What do you think? For you, of course. Yellow clashes with my complexion.”

The trim really made it work. Jan nodded. “I like it.”

“It’d look good on you.” Jen draped the shirt over her arm. “It’s just, football’s not inherently more of an interesting sport than volleyball, but everyone goes to football because that’s what’s _done_. And because people don’t go to sporting events if the athletes are girls—even though we’re _good_! We practice really hard, and we’re really good! If they gave volleyball a chance...”

“I’m sure it’s more exciting than football,” Jan agreed. “Faster-paced action, less waiting between downs...” A rack of purple pencil skirts caught her eye, and she picked one up, holding it out to Jen. “I love this for you.”

“Let’s see if they have it in my size,” Jen said, flipping through the skirts. “Wow, one fourteen left. Must be my lucky day.” She held the skirt up in front of her. “What do you think?”

Jan clapped her hands. “Super hot. When’s your next game? I’ll make sure you draw up a crowd.”

“This Thursday. You’re the best. Think you can draw up a crowd for Debate, too?” she asked. Jan raised an eyebrow, and Jen laughed. “I’m kidding. That one is a lost cause. At least it’ll look good on my college applications.”

\--

“Do you feel like this is a betrayal of Hank, going to cheer on his arch-enemy’s best friend?” Bobbi asked as they looked around the gym. The volleyball net was set up, and the home team was practicing, hitting the ball around a circle. “I feel like we might be betraying Hank.”

“We’re not betraying Hank,” Greer said. “It’s a school sporting event.”

“Then why didn’t we tell him about it?”

“Now you two know what it’s like to be me,” Tony interrupted with a huff. “Come on.” He led them to the bleachers, where Janet and a group of her friends were sitting and chatting.

Janet looked up at their approach; her eyes seemed to light up as she saw Tony. “Hey! You made it! And you brought more friends!” She looked Bobbi and Greer over, her face neutral. No doubt she was also thinking of the awkward dynamics, with their being Hank’s friends. It was so strange to think of Janet as Hank’s stepsister, living under the same roof and sharing parents.

Greer gave a casual half-wave. “Hi, Janet.”

“Hi, guys, thanks for coming,” Janet replied as if she were hosting the game.

Tony sat next to Janet and started chatting with her, and Bobbi and Greer sat next to him. While they waited, Bobbi pulled out a plastic storage container full of cookies.

“Anyone allergic to peanut butter?” she asked. When they all said no, she opened it up and passed the container around.

“These are so good,” Janet said, covering her mouth with a hand to avoid spitting out crumbs. “Can I get your recipe?”

Bobbi had to explain that she hadn't made the cookies, and Janet looked very interested to hear about the connection between her and Clint. 

“I've spoken to him a few times,” Janet said. “He seems great. A little shy.” She didn't add that that was perfect for Bobbi, who was more than a little shy, but Bobbi's mind filled it in.

The game turned out to be a lot of fun to watch. The 80s training montage music was cranked up while the players slammed the ball around, and the school mascot ran around the gym, singing along and getting everyone pumped up. Moreover, Jennifer Walters was _good_ , finding the holes in the other team’s court and slamming the ball into them before they could react. She was clearly the star, but the whole team worked well together, passing the ball around and setting up each other’s kills.

After the game, Jennifer came over to Janet and let out a whoop. “That energy was amazing! I can’t believe you did it!” She gave her a quick squeeze. “I know, I’m all gross, but you’re going to have to live with it. You guys! Thank you for coming. Also, you all suck for not coming until today.”

She caught up with her friends for a few minutes, and then, to Bobbi’s surprise, she turned to her and Greer. “Hi, guys. I guess Tony brought you?”

“He did,” Greer confirmed. “I had no idea what we were missing! This was awesome.”

“That's what I keep saying,” Jennifer said. “I have to say, I'm stoked you're here. I'm a big fan.” Greer pointed to herself as if to say, _Of me?_ and Jennifer continued, “I think it's amazing how much of an influence you have on this school even without holding any student government position or anything, just by standing up and using your voice. Our team suddenly got a lot more funding after your whole girls’ soccer team demonstration, and I always meant to thank you for it.”

“Wow.” Greer looked a little overwhelmed. “I didn't even know.”

“The whole team, really,” Jennifer added. 

Bobbi and Greer exchanged a look. Bobbi was impressed—she’d always known how awesome her friend was, but she hadn’t realized that so many other people appreciated her, too.

“Hey, a bunch of us going out for coffee after this,” Jennifer said. “Do you two want to come?”

\--

Clint waited Friday night for Bobbi to pick him up so they could go to the game. Neither Barney nor his mom were able to drive him that night, and he'd originally planned on biking to the game and meeting her there, but Bobbi had insisted.

“If we're going together, we might as well _go together_ ,” she’d said. “It’s really not a problem for me to pick you up. Just text me your address.”

He hadn’t been able to come up with a good excuse to say no, so here he was, Friday evening, waiting for Bobbi to come to the apartment and see where he lived for the first time. The house was already empty; his mother was at work, having taken an extra shift, and Barney was out with friends from his day job.

Despite expecting her, Clint jumped when she knocked on the door. His nerves felt like the bubbles in a Coke that had been dropped on the floor—what would happen when the lid came off was anyone's guess.

He opened the door, resisting the temptation to block the entrance. “Hey,” she said.

“Hi. Come on in.”

She stepped inside and looked around, and he followed her gaze, seeing the apartment the way she no doubt was: worn-out floors and old rugs, non-matching furniture, walls with peeling paint and water stains.

Well, it had to happen eventually, right?

He looked at her, trying without success to interpret the expression on her face. Suddenly, he felt guilty for ambushing her with this. Why hadn’t he told her from the start, or at least when they’d made the plans for her to come over?

“I should have let you know what to expect,” he said quickly. “I'm sure it looks like a slum compared with what you're used to—”

She stopped looking around at the apartment and turned to him. “No, no...it’s a place to live, isn’t it? And it’s clean, it’s...I should stop talking.”

“It’s okay, Bobbi. You can say it. I’m poor.”

She looked like she didn't know what to say—assure him that he wasn't? Tell him that it was all right? Taking pity on her, he said, “I should probably tell you more about my background.”

“Sure, if you want to.”

He realized suddenly that she must have known all along there was something he wasn’t telling her. The way she didn’t push when he admitted that the lactose intolerance thing had been a lie, of course she’d figured out that something was up.

“I didn’t grow up like this,” he began. “We weren’t rich or anything, but we had a house. Paid the bills on time. Never had our electricity cut off. But my father...he had a temper.” He didn’t look at her, afraid to see the pity in her eyes as he spilled his history. “When he was sober, it was just insults and threats, but when he got drunk...that was when he hit us, he hit her, he...I learned at a very young age how to mitigate the damage by staying in the other room when he got a certain look in his eye, but it often wasn’t enough.”

“Your whole life?”

Clint nodded. “My mother’s parents weren’t any help. I think she married _him_ to get away from _them_ , ironically.” A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. “I heard her on the phone with my grandmother once—but that’s not important. Anyway, one day, they went out to...I don’t even know, some sort of party, maybe? Barney and I were home alone. My dad drank too much and crashed the car on the way home.” He took a deep breath, remembering what it was like to wake up to police officers and social service workers telling him and Barney that there had been an accident with their parents. “They were both in a coma for three months, me and Barney landed in foster care because none of our grandparents gave a shit. She woke up first, filed a restraining order, took us, and ran. She found a manufactured housing community—what they call a trailer park in movies—and we lived there for the next few years while she worked around the clock. I think she felt like having so many neighbors so close by would give her some protection in case he decided to...you know.”

“Follow her?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “And then...you moved here?”

“Right. I wasn’t doing well. School was...well, I didn’t understand anything that was going on in class, and the teachers were too overworked to help me. Eventually, I stopped going half the time, sleeping all day and spending my nights getting trashed with the other kids in the park. My mom worked late, so she wasn’t able to stop me, but once she saved up the money, she moved us out here for a fresh start.” He took another look around the apartment, but this time, he thought of all the sacrifices his mother had made, the long hours which led to promotions, just so that she could bring them here and he and Barney could have a shot at a better future. Or any future. “Maybe this doesn’t look like much to you, but for me—us—it’s everything.”

Bobbi looked a little taken back, and he realized he’d been a little too defensive. “Sorry,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just...” He trailed off, unable to find the right word.

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “You didn’t do anything wrong, either.”

It was an awkward note to leave the conversation on, but he didn’t have anything else to say, and neither did she, apparently. They drove to the game in relative silence and found her friends in the stands. Hank and Greer were there, as well as Tony and some guy Clint didn’t recognize.

“Hi, I’m Rhodey,” the guy said. “It’s great to meet you—I’ve heard a ton about you in the past ten minutes.” He grinned and gave Clint a wink, then turned to Bobbi and gave her a hug. “Good to see you, Bobbi.”

“Same to you.” Bobbi returned the hug, then pulled back looked at Clint apologetically. “I meant to tell you he was coming.” But had forgotten, presumably, at the sight of his apartment. “Rhodey’s a year above us. He’s at Northwestern now.” She turned back to Rhodey. “How’s college, by the way?”

Clint looked down at the field, not listening for the answer, and the conversation around him turned into a buzz. He didn’t have much in common with his new classmates, as nice as everyone had been to him. Whenever talk of college came up, it just reminded him of just how much he didn’t fit in. He hadn’t even known what a “safety school” was the first time he’d the phrase, and when he’d overheard someone in the locker room say that a certain school accepted 60 percent of applicants, it just made him think of the other 40 percent who were rejected. Now that Bobbi knew his backstory, how would things change? Would she avoid talking about her future plans around him in an attempt to keep him from getting jealous, or would she pretend that nothing had changed? He wasn’t sure which he would prefer.

He tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear Rhodey saying, “...and that’s why you should make sure that you _always_ have a bottle of foot powder in your dorm room."

Clint caught a glimpse of Hank’s phone and realized it was time for him to get that week’s money from Cross—it had slipped his mind entirely until that moment. He leaned towards Bobbi and whispered, “I’ve gotta go. Be back in a minute.”

Cross was already waiting in the designated spot when Clint arrived. “You’re late,” he noted.

Clint shrugged.

Cross handed him that week’s money. “I was serious about the bonus for the PDA,” he added. “Maybe next week.”

As much as he itched to dress the guy down, Clint knew that if he pissed him off too much, the whole deal would probably get called off. And though he didn’t love being in business with Cross, the deal was working out for him overall. Getting to hang out with Bobbi, getting a built-in social crowd, and being paid for it was worth a few minutes weekly of having to hold his tongue. So he just said, “It takes two for that kind of thing, and she’s not into it.”

Cross mumbled something that Clint was frankly glad he didn’t catch, and Clint went back to his seat, squeezing in next to Bobbi and giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She smiled back, but she seemed thoughtful, and she was quieter than usual during the game.

Her distracted mood continued during the drive back. When they reached his home, Bobbi parked in front of his building and got out to walk with him. Halfway up the path, she turned to him and said, “I don’t think we should be splitting the money fifty-fifty.”

He stopped, taken aback. “What?”

“I don’t want to take money from you when you need it so much more than I do.”

Well. That was something he hadn’t expected and didn’t quite know how to react to. He felt... _hurt_. He didn’t have the words for it, and he didn’t quite know why he felt the way he did, but it felt like she’d just stabbed him.

“We...had a deal,” he said slowly.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t know that I was poor?” he interrupted. “That I lived in squalor, that the money the two of us split every week is the only thing holding me back from buying a two-story house with a backyard and a picket fence?” He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t tell you my life story because I was asking for a handout.”

Her mouth was kind of hanging open, stunned by his words. Good; he'd been stunned by hers.

Before she could say anything, Clint reached into his pocket and pulled out her share of that week’s money, folded over and held together by a rubber band. “Take it,” he said. She hesitated, but he shook the bundle of bills in front of her and repeated, “ _Take it._ ”

She bit her lip and reached out her hand, blinking quickly, and he shoved the money into it. “I’ll see you on Monday,” he said, and then he turned and left.


	10. Cooking Up a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony makes a move.

When Jan saw the text from Tony asking if she wanted to hang out on Saturday afternoon, she didn’t have to think twice. Their night out in Boston had been a blast, worth every minute of grogginess that had come the next day. Tony was great to have around, always looking out for her and making sure she was comfortable and having a good time. Not to mention, he was nice to look at.

She wrote back asking what he had in mind, and her phone rang a few minutes later.

“Want to come over?” Tony asked. “I picked up a few new games this week, and a bunch of them are two-players.”

“Yeah, we could do that.” Tony’s tastes in video games ran the gamut, so even though Jan wasn’t a huge gamer, she always found something she enjoyed.

Tony’s parents were out, which wasn’t unusual, and the house was quiet aside from the two of them. Jan made herself comfortable on one of the bean bag chairs in Tony’s game room while he brought out a bunch of games to look through. She chose _Overcooked!_ , where they had to work together and deal with obstacles while putting together meals. It was harder than expected, especially at the beginning when Jan and Tony had a hard time synching up their movements and wasted half the assigned time yelling at each other, but after a while, they got the hang of it and started to really enjoy themselves.

“Is all this making you hungry or is it just me?” Tony asked right after they finished a level where they had to make fish and chips from a moving truck that kept falling apart.

“It’s not just you,” she said.

In the kitchen, Tony managed to scrounge up a half-eaten bag of tortilla chips along with a jar of salsa and some sour cream, and they leaned against the kitchen island with the food between them while they ate. 

Janet’s mouth was full when Tony looked over at her and asked, “Hey, Jan, can I ask you something?”

She couldn’t answer while she was chewing, so she just nodded.

“You know how we’ve been friends for a long time?”

Jan swallowed the food in her mouth and said, “You breaking up with me, Stark?”

He quirked a grin. “No, actually...how would you feel about being more than friends?”

Her mouth dropped.

“Hear me out,” he added. “You know I think you’re amazing. And I didn’t invite you over here to spring this on you. It’s just, I keep looking over and thinking how cute you are, and my inner voice keeps telling me to just go for it, and I keep chickening out. Until now.” He groaned and put his face in his hands. “Usually, I have much better game than this.”

That was true—she’d seen it firsthand more than once.

Tony picked up a chip from the bowl and held it out to her. “What do you say?”

She froze in indecision, having been taken by surprise. Tony had been a friend for so long, and it was true that lately, she’d started getting a butterflies-in-stomach feeling around him...but to take it further? Probably wouldn’t end well.

Would probably end in disaster.

To the best of her knowledge, Tony’s only serious relationship ever had been with Steve, and they’d dated for a year and a half, which was practically married in high school years. In fact, Jan had first met Steve as the football teammate Tony had had a huge crush on. She’d been there, seen everything, through the ups and downs of their relationship. She’d high-fived Tony over their first kiss, had co-planned a surprise birthday party with Steve for Tony’s sixteenth birthday, had been a listening ear for Tony’s worries when he’d decided to quit football, had distracted him with movie nights when things had finally ended.

Part of her wondered if he was just lonely. Sure, he’d gotten around a bit since he and Steve had broken up, but from her understanding, that had just been for fun, letting off steam. Whereas she was a close friend—like Steve—and if the two of them got together, the stakes would be real. Spending even more time together, providing emotional support to each other, would be risking real heartbreak. Like Steve.

“I think it’s your turn to say something,” Tony said.

“Right.”

On the other hand, what the hell was she doing? Tony was hot, and he was her friend, and he made her laugh. And she liked him, liked joking around with him and talking to him and just spending time with him. Looking at it from that angle, there was no question that she should be saying yes.

He looked at her expectantly.

“Um,” Jan said. “I need to think about it.”

A change went over him so quickly that Jan almost thought she’d imagined it. His face went from hopeful to pleasantly neutral in a hundredth of a second, and he nodded. “Fair enough.” He dunked the chip he was holding in the dip and ate it himself, then brushed the crumbs off his hands. “So, back to the virtual kitchen?”

\--

Bobbi finally called Clint on Sunday afternoon.

She’d thought all weekend about Friday night, about her reaction to the things Clint had told her, trying to figure out where she’d gone wrong. Through grocery shopping with her mom, through laundry with Ben, through movie night with Hank and Greer. She’d wanted to ask them for advice, but Clint hadn’t told her she could tell everyone else about his living situation, so she’d spent most of the evening going over the events of the previous evening in her head, turning everything over and inside out in order to try and figure out what she was missing. 

When she tried to understand it, it made her head spin. She _knew_ he could use the money. And she didn’t need it. If she kept it, she would spend it on things she wanted, whereas he would spend it on things he actually needed. It just made sense for him to have it.

But she knew there was context to it that she didn’t understand. Maybe he didn’t want to accept charity from a peer. Or maybe it was nothing like that, but rather that he had only been able to rationalize taking the money from Cross because he was splitting it with her, but taking that part away ruined the dynamic. Or maybe...

She pressed the call button.

_He doesn’t want to talk to me._

Quickly, she pressed the cancel button.

But maybe...maybe he did.

She pressed the call button again, then turned the speaker option on and immediately threw the phone at her bed before she could lose her nerve again. It rang three times, and then Clint picked up.

“Hi,” he said. It was a wary greeting—he didn’t sound like he was still angry, but neither did it sound like he was happy or relieved to hear from her.

“Can we talk?” she asked. “In person.”

He didn’t answer right away, and for a second, she had a horrible fear that he was going to hang up without answering. Then he spoke. “I’ll be right over.”

She waited by the front door, pacing a hole in the floor for the twenty minutes it took until she saw him riding his bike up the street. A sigh of relief escaped her. Just the fact that he was willing to talk, that he hadn’t written her off as a privileged idiot, made the muscles of her chest relax.

Clint came up the front walk, and she opened the door before he could knock.

“Hey,” he said, hands shoved into his front pockets.

“Hey.” She was frozen in place for a second, glad to see him, relieved that he didn’t have the same look of anger and hurt that had been her last glimpse of him Friday night. “Uh, let’s go to my room and talk?”

She sat him down on her bed while she stood in front of him, and he waited expectantly while she wrung her hands.

“Okay,” Bobbi said. “Here’s the thing.” She forced her hands still. “I know nothing of hardship. I mean, yeah, my father, fine, but despite that, my entire life, I’ve always known that I was loved; I’ve always felt _safe_. I don’t know what it’s like to be afraid of someone whose job it is to protect me; I don’t know what it’s like to not have food in the refrigerator or to worry that my power will be shut off.”

“I know,” he said. “I don’t expect you to.”

“And I...I want you to have what I have, you know? You’re such a great guy, and I know it’s not in my power, but I just wanted...I want you to feel safe, too. I know that money can’t take back what your father did to your family, or solve all of your problems, but I just thought, maybe there’s something I could do.”

“Bobbi.” He stood up and took a step forward.

“It was dumb,” she admitted, hanging her head.

“Come here,” he said. He reached his arms out, and she went to him. They wrapped their arms around each other in a hug, and it felt so _right_. They’d never touched affectionately when it wasn’t for display, and it surprised her just how wonderful a simple hug could feel.

“Thank you,” he said over her shoulder. “I’m still not taking your money, but thank you for trying.”

The warmth from his arms flowed through her body, and she let herself bask in it for a few moments before pulling her head back. He kept his hands on her arms as he did the same, and she caught herself examining his face up close for the first time.

She'd never paid attention to his lips before. They were full and smooth and tight now, they were slightly parted. Bobbi raised her eyes and saw that his gaze was focused on her mouth as well. Her stomach fluttered, and she felt a pressing need to touch his lips with hers and find out how they tasted.

She leaned in.

The door opened, and her brother burst in. “Bobbi, can you call my phone? I can’t—” He stopped in his tracks as Bobbi and Clint startled and jumped away from each other. “Holy shit. So sorry. Carry on.” 

Ben reversed course and hurried out of the room, but in his haste, he forgot to close the door behind him. Heart thudding in her chest, Bobbi took another step back, mortified by what she'd almost done. He'd explicitly said that he didn't want involved with anyone romantically, and they'd only just made up. The last thing they needed was to go and make things awkward. 

“So, uh,” Clint said. His voice was husky, and he'd retreated a safe distance away. “We're good now, right?”


	11. With a Little Help From My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Jan get some much-needed advice.

Tony needed to talk to someone, and for once in his life, he had no idea who. Not Hank, because it was about Jan. Not Jan, for the same reason. Not Steve, because as much as Steve was comfortable talking with Tony about his love life, Tony wasn’t sure he could return the favor. And not Rhodey, who was swamped with studying this week and had no time to talk.

Luckily for him, he happened to pass by Bobbi and Clint sitting and talking on the floor in front of her locker Monday morning, about ten minutes before first period. Her hand was on top of his, and their bodies mirrored each other in the way they sat. Totally inappropriate for school grounds. Not with all these young eyes around.

There was a chance he was a little jealous.

Bobbi noticed him and immediately straightened up. “Hey, Tony,” she said. “We missed you at movie night.”

He checked the hallway for crossing traffic, then walked over and sat down next to them. “I was hanging out with Jan.”

“Oh. Sure.” Bobbi nodded. “Well, you missed—”

“I asked her out,” he blurted out.

Bobbi’s eyes widened. “ _Oh_.”

“Don’t tell Hank, okay?”

“You can’t mean to keep it from him,” she said, looking puzzled.

“There might not be anything to keep.” Tony sighed. “She said she needs to think about it.”

“Did she say why?” Clint asked.

“No, but I can guess. Every...encounter I’ve had since Steve has been a hookup or a two-party fling at best. Jan’s not interested in that kind of thing.”

“And are you serious about her?”

His eyes darted back and forth between them, and then he nodded.

“So go for it,” Bobbi said.

“I mean, I kind of did. The ball’s in her court now, right?”

“Not exactly,” Clint says. “It seems like you kind of just...rolled the ball in her general direction. If you don’t tell her you’re serious about her, she’ll never know.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to make a case for yourself,” Bobbi agreed. “At least let her know what she’s saying yes or no to.”

Tony nodded. It made sense. It had been scary enough asking Jan out to begin with, which was why he’d tried to do it in such a casual way, but she deserved better.

Bobbi laughed suddenly. “I just realized. Your next college tour trip is going to be so awkward.”

\--

“Next question: the difference between a phylogram and a cladogram,” Sam said. He scanned the textbook open in front of them, running the back of his pen down the columns.

Jan had long since lost her ability to concentrate. “Are you and Steve dating?” she asked without preamble.

His eyes widened, and he looked around the library to make sure that no one had heard—which, she had whispered for a reason, but okay. Once he was satisfied, he turned back to her and nodded. “How did you know?”

“It was a guess. You guys...I don’t know, you stand really close together, whisper a lot, that kind of thing.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize it was so obvious.”

“I guess you’re not ready to come out?”

“No, not yet.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t her business. She turned back to the textbook, nominally scanning for the answer to the homework question, then paused and added, “I didn’t mean to butt in, it’s just...Tony asked me out.”

“Ahh.”

“I really like him. I just—you know, there’s Steve.”

“Yeah.” Sam laughed. “I know.”

“And you’re not jealous?” she asked. “Or...maybe jealous isn’t the word. But scared? I mean, I was _there_ , you know? I saw them together. Is it really possible that all those feelings they had for each other are just...gone now?”

Sam sat without answering, tapping his pen against the table.

“I probably shouldn’t have said that,” Jan admitted. “I’m not trying to make you doubt Steve or anything.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m not worried about Steve. He’s shown me that I can trust him—that he cares about me, and that I’m not some sort of substitute. Has Tony shown you that?”

She thought about it. “He’s...he’s a really good friend. With Jen’s volleyball game, he must have convinced over half of the people there to come. And he listens to me when I worry about college and complain about my father—scratch that, you didn’t hear that, I don’t complain about my father. I love my father.”

“Right.”

“Still, sometimes you’ve got to vent.”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me about occasionally needing to vent about a father you love,” Sam said. “It’s not easy being the bisexual son of a _minister_. I mean, he’s progressive, kind of, and he has gay congregants, but in some ways, being bi is—never mind, you don’t want to hear about that.”

Jan pointed her pen at him. “Hey, we’re friends, right? Of course I want to hear about it.”

“Right. It’s just...in my dad’s church, they’ve reached the point where they can say that being gay isn’t a choice, and we should love each other as God created us. But when it comes to being bi...”

“The ‘it’s not a choice’ thing doesn’t hold up as well?”

“Well, being bi isn’t a choice, either,” he pointed out. “But then they might say that if I _can_ date a woman, then I _should_ date a woman, without understanding that if I fall in love with a man...you know? I can’t date a woman if I’m in love with a man.”

That sounded tough. “Have you spoken to your dad about it?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not ready. I don’t know what he’ll say.”

“And you talk to Steve about that kind of thing?”

“Yeah. He’s a good listener.”

“Tony’s a good listener, too. But he’s always been a good listener; maybe it’s just part of being his friend. How do I _know_?”

“You know, maybe you don’t. I don’t _know_ that Tony’s not going to show up at Steve’s doorstep one day in the rain like in the movies and beg him to take him back and that if he does, Steve won’t fall into his arms. I can’t _know_ that.”

“Then what?”

Sam shrugged. “I just...trust.”


	12. It'll Be Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi steps out of her comfort zone.

Over the next few weeks, things settled into a routine. Clint was spending more and more of his time with Bobbi and her friends, and he continued meeting up with Cross at their weekly appointment while trying to keep conversation down to a minimum. He and Bobbi hadn’t revisited the issue of how they split the money, but they also hadn’t discussed the almost-kiss. That last part was a little unsettling, but he didn’t want to rock the boat.

He still wasn't sure what to think about the fact that they'd almost kissed. He thought he should have been glad that they'd been interrupted—he'd already thrown her life off its center enough with the scheme they had going. What she needed was stability, and hormones arriving to topple an already-complicated situation was the opposite of that. 

And yet, thinking back to that moment before the door had burst open, he'd never in his life wanted anything so acutely as he had wanted at that moment to kiss Bobbi Morse.

But then he'd been snapped back to the real world, and that was where he'd remained since. 

At lunch on Thursday, he and Bobbi sat down at the usual lunch table with their fish and chips and started to eat as they waited for her friends to join them.

Clint watched Bobbi squeeze ketchup onto a paper plate. She dipped a fry in and brought it to her mouth, then stopped when she noticed him looking. “What?”

“It was Rhodey, wasn’t it?” Clint asked.

“Huh?”

“The guy you had a crush on?”

Her eyes widened, and she dropped the fry onto her plate. “You’re kidding! How did you figure that out?”

Clint laughed. “It was just your whole...I don’t know, you, like, changed a little, when you saw him at the game. The way you held yourself, straightening your back, being really friendly but still holding yourself back. Like you were trying to seem cooler.”

“Oh, God.” She covered her face with her hands.

“No, it worked.”

Bobbi uncovered her face and glared at him. “Shut up.”

“If I were him—”

“Come on, it was just a crush.” She started eating again. “I don’t even know him that well. And anyway, I hardly have time to date two different guys, even if one of them lives in a different city.”

Tony and Hank joined them at that point, and the topic was changed to the math test that the two of them and Bobbi had coming up. Clint tuned out for that, and then the topic was switched again when Greer arrived.

“Hey, are you coming to Jan’s again on Friday?” Tony asked Clint.

Clint paused with his food halfway to his mouth. “What’s on Friday?”

“Well, there’s no game, so she’s having a party. The two of you should come.”

Clint looked over at Bobbi to check if she was interested. She looked slightly doubtful, but not completely opposed.

“Come on, Tony,” she said doubtfully. “What would I do at one of her parties?”

“The same thing everyone else does? Socialize, dance, hook up with a stranger...” He winked, obviously joking about the last part.

“I don’t know...”

“You’ve never been to one of hers before, right? Well, don’t write it off until you’ve tried it.”

She looked hesitant. “Do you really see me there?”

“Why not?” Tony asked. “No, seriously, what’s holding you back? Give it a chance. Worst case scenario, you’re totally bored. You can always escape to Hank’s room. I’ll probably stop by myself at some point during the night,” Tony said.

Hank smirked. “I’m having my own party. Very exclusive.”

Bobbi turned to Clint. “What do you think?”

He thought about the last party, how awkward it had been for the few minutes when he hadn’t known anyone, and how awful it had been to be stuck sitting with Cross and his friends while they acted like assholes. It would be different going with Bobbi. She was so easy to be with; he always felt lighter around her. Maybe at the party, they’d get a chance to dance together...and who knew? Depending on how the night went, they might even get in a real kiss this time.

“It sounds fun,” he said.

“Okay.” She smiled. “We’ll go, then.”

After lunch, the five of them split up for their next classes. Clint’s Spanish class was in the classroom next to Hank’s U.S. Government, so they walked together.

“What’s the deal with the parties?” Clint asked Hank as they made their way down the hallway. “They’re in your house, but you don’t go?”

Hank shrugged. “I’m not a fan. Loud music and weird lighting give me a headache, and when there are too many people in a confined space, I get anxious. Especially when they’re all talking at the same time.” He shuddered.

“I see.” Clint could relate somewhat—he also had trouble with multiple people speaking at the same time. And he definitely didn’t enjoy trying to hold a conversation in a place with dark or flashing lights. But going to a party with a date meant that he could focus on speaking with one person instead of trying to follow a group conversation. And when the music got loud enough that the conversation stopped altogether, he could relax, switching all of his mental facilities to autopilot and allowing him to lose himself in a sea of sound and bass vibrations.

“I’m glad you’re going, though,” Hank said. “It’ll be nice for Bobbi. She’s different from me. I think she would like to get out of the lab once in a while...she just needs some help navigating where to go.”

Clint agreed; that was the impression he’d gotten the very first time they’d met. Otherwise, why would she have agreed to spend most of her free time with him after a single conversation?

“Did she ever tell you how we met?” Hank asked.

Clint racked his memory. “I don’t think so.”

“It was basically Will Cross’s fault,” Hank said. “In kindergarten, I had this ant farm, which I thought was the most amazing thing in the world, and I brought it in one day for Show and Tell. I showed everyone all the tunnels explained all about the eusocial society in an ant nest and how you can watch it being reproduced in the vivarium and see the ants actually digging the tunnels. I thought all the other kids would find it as fascinating as I did. They did not. To say the least.”

Clint winced, imagining poor preschooler Hank being teased by his snot-nosed classmates.

“They kept acting like I was infested with ants as if they were fleas or lice, which is _ridiculous_ because ants aren’t parasites like fleas and lice are. Which I tried to explain, but go teach kindergarteners about insect ecology, am I right?” Hank paused for an answer.

“Yeah, totally,” Clint agreed. He’d never personally tried to teach kindergarteners about insect ecology, but it seemed like the right answer.

“Right!” Hank said. “Bobbi was the only one who stuck with me. When Will Cross led the charge against me and got all the other kids to start calling me ‘Ant-Man,’ she beat him up. That was the day I figured out there’s no better place to be than at Bobbi Morse’s side.”

Clint grinned. “Good for her. Is that why he hates her so much?”

“Well, I guess that’s what started it. They’ve had a few other run-ins over the years. He’s a bully, and she doesn’t stand for it.”

“So he’s like her arch-enemy.”

Hank laughed. “Sure.”

“And she’s been part of your life for a long time,” Clint said.

“Twelve years,” Hank agreed.

“And have things between you ever been—you know...”

“What, like, romantic?” Hank made a face. “We’ve been best friends since kindergarten. That’s—ew. No.”

“I just don’t want to cut in on anything,” Clint insisted. “Even though...you know that...” He trailed off, not sure exactly which of her friends Bobbi had told the truth to about their “relationship.”

“Yeah, I know you’re not—” he lowered his voice, “—really dating, but either way, I’ve never been interested in her like that, and I’m pretty sure it goes both ways. You know, there’s this theory in sociology called—”

Clint cut Hank off. “I hate to interrupt what I’m sure is going to be a fascinating lecture, but this is my classroom.”

Hank looked confused for a second, like he wasn’t sure what classrooms had to do with anything, but then he shook it off. “RIght. Class. Um...what were we talking about? Oh! The Westermarck Effect.”

“I’ll look it up,” Clint promised. “See you later.”

\--

After Thursday’s volleyball game, Greer brought Bobbi to her house so that they could go through her closet and find her something to wear for the party.

“How do you feel about sequins?” Greer asked, looking at a short silver dress she’d picked up over the summer. She’d worn the dress on a date with a boy she’d met in Miami Beach, and she had _very_ fond memories of the evening. Although come to think of it...she checked the strap, and sure enough, she’d forgotten to get that tear repaired. “Never mind.”

Bobbi stood on her left, browsing the dresses in front of her. “I’ve never seen you in any of this stuff.”

“Hey, any time you want to join me clubbing, just say the—Oh! I’ve got it.” She pushed a few items to the side and pulled out a purple dress with wide straps that attached to a silver ring in the back, with a few thin straps connecting the ring to the rest of the dress. It definitely showed more back than what Bobbi was used to wearing, but she had the physique to pull it off. “What do you think?”

Bobbi raised her eyebrows. “Purple?”

“What’s wrong with purple?”

“I don’t know, isn’t it a little much?”

“The point is to be a little much. Come on, don’t you want his eyes to pop out when he sees you?”

Knowing Bobbi as well as she did, Greer could tell that she absolutely wanted Clint’s eyes to pop out when he saw her, but some sense of pride held Bobbi back from saying anything. Instead, she took the dress from Greer’s hand and walked over to the other side of the room, next to the bed, to try it on.

“How come you never go to school parties?” Bobbi asked, her back to Greer as she started taking off her shirt. Greer picked up a magazine from her dresser and started to leaf through it. “You get along with people.”

“I used to,” Greer said. “When I was a freshman. Did the whole scene. Got over it.” She’d never really talked about that stage in her life with anyone before—by the time she and Bobbi had met, she’d stopped going to school parties, and since Bobbi and Hank weren’t part of that scene, it hadn’t come up. “It’s an awkward mix of socializing and dancing with people you don’t really know, and sometimes they get drunk and make a scene and you learn things about people you would rather not know, and then you have to go to school the next day with the same people and pretend that nothing ever happened. I’d rather not get involved.” 

Not to mention that the high school social politics had started to drag her down. She’d heard through the grapevine that guys she’d danced or hooked up with at the parties had later gone on to trash her behind her back, and the hypocrisy would have been funny if it hadn’t hit so close to home. She still enjoyed clubbing—there were a few clubs in Chicago with the occasional teen night, and Emma had a source for fake IDs that were so good they’d fool any bouncer.

She shook her thoughts off and continued. “But hey, that’s just me. Lots of people go and have a great time. I’m sure you’ll have fun. Plus, you’re going with your _boyfriend_ , so you can head to your own private party if you’re not having a good time.”

“He’s not my _boyfriend_ ,” Bobbi said.

“Whatever. Close enough.”

There was some rustling of fabric, and then Bobbi’s spoke. “Okay, I’m done.”

Greer turned to look. It was just as she’d thought—the open back flattered Bobbi’s sculpted shoulders, and the relaxed fit gave the dress a breezy, fun look. The rich color also looked gorgeous against her skin. That fake boyfriend of hers was going to have a heart attack.

“You’re keeping that dress,” Greer stated emphatically. “You...that dress should be thanking you for wearing it.”

An embarrassed smile crept onto Bobbi’s face.

“Oh, you know what you should do? You should wear my tiger shoes! For good luck.” She walked over to where they sat on the floor next to the bed and picked them up, arranging them next to Bobbi’s feet. They didn’t match the dress, but the point of the tiger shoes wasn’t to _match_ ; it was to make people stare.

Bobbi looked down at the shoes. “I can’t do that. They’re too distinctive.”

“What’s wrong with distinctive?”

“I’ll look like I’m trying to be someone that I’m not—namely, you. Not that you’re not a great person to be, I just...”

“I think you’re overthinking it, and I think they’d look hot on you, but it’s your call.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Bobbi said, clearly a polite way of saying, _No way are you getting me into those_. Not that she needed them. The boy was clearly smitten with her, and Bobbi deserved to finally have someone who recognized how amazing she was. Greer could only hope that the two of them wouldn’t be too stubborn to admit that this whole “fake dating” thing had run its course and that it was time for them to take things to the next level.


	13. Or Maybe Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jan's party.

The night of the party came, and Bobbi’s nerves were sky-high. She’d gotten dressed in five minutes, an hour before she needed to leave the house, and spent the rest of the time pacing around her room. Now, she pulled up to the curb in front of Clint’s building, where he waited outside. He gave her outfit a look as he got in the car and grinned. “That dress looks great on you.”

“Greer said the dress should thank me for wearing it,” she said gleefully. A second later, she was hit with the thought that bragging was unseemly, but, well...she was just agreeing with him, right?

“I’ll second that,” he responded, and she felt her nerves settle a little bit.

They arrived at the party and took a short tour around the main floor of the house, which frankly blew her away, with its high ceilings and intricate molding. Huge windows graced the front hall, and the floors were made of white marble. It was astonishing to think that this was where Hank lived now.

“Want a beer? Or a Coke?” Clint asked.

“Yeah, I’ll have a beer.” She could handle a single drink. “Can we go get them together? I don’t really know how to stand here, waiting, without looking awkward.”

“Sure.” He took her hand, almost casually, which made her stomach flip, and they navigated through the crowd to reach the kitchen. The counters were set up with drinks and snacks, and they made their way over to a stack of red plastic cups next to assorted bottles of beer. Clint took a beer and opened it, the cap letting out a short hiss as it bent. He split the bottle evenly between two red cups and passed one to her. “Cheers.”

She took a sip. This was nice, she realized. She’d never realized she could simultaneously feel so comfortable with someone and still feel that little thrill in his presence. They found some chairs and sat down, and he looked around the room and then put his arm around her, his fingers lingering on her upper arm, drawing out goosebumps.

“Is this okay?” he asked tentatively.

The way her breath had caught in her throat at his touch, she wasn’t sure she could get any words out, so she looked at him and nodded. He smiled at that, and something melted inside of her.

After finishing their drinks, they walked around some more, eventually running into Tony and Janet and all of her friends. Before Bobbi had started going to the school volleyball games, she never would have approached them, even with Tony there, but at this point, she was comfortable enough to say hello.

“Wow, I’m so glad you came!” Janet said, giving Bobbi a hug that surprised her. She hugged Clint as well and then started introducing him to her friends. “You know Tony, of course. Sam and Steve you probably recognize from their headshots, although everyone knows that Jen is the _real_ star of varsity sports around here.”

“Volleyball,” Jen cut in. “Nice to meet you.”

“Wanda, Simon, Miguel, Julia,” Janet continued. “Everyone, this is Clint and Bobbi.”

“Your house is really nice,” Bobbi said to Janet.

“Make yourself at home,” she replied, her hands open.

Suddenly, she saw Clint tense up next to her. She followed his line of sight across the room and laid her eyes on...Barney? His brother? That was odd.

She exchanged a look with Clint. “Let’s go,” he said. He turned to Janet. “We’ll see you later.”

Barney was headed in their direction as they walked towards him. They met in the middle of the room, next to the sound system. A group of people nearby were dancing to Dua Lipa’s “IDGAF.”

“What’s going on?” Clint asked.

“Heard it was an open party,” Barney responded. Now that they were closer, Bobbi could see that his face looked flushed and even his eyes were a little red. He looked wobbly, too, even standing in place.

“You been drinking, Barn?” Clint said tightly. “And driving?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Clint,” Barney snapped, but he didn’t answer the question. Remembering what had happened with their father, Bobbi realized it must have been a sore topic. All of a sudden she thought about the fact that Clint always made sure to fasten his seatbelt in her car—he was more fastidious about it than anyone else she knew.

Maybe he’d been at the party for a while before they’d spotted him. But what was he doing at a high school party?

“Are you making a drop or something?” Clint asked, a hiss in his voice. “Because this is not the place—”

Barney interrupted him. “Hey, are you sure you want to bring that up in front of your prissy-ass girlfriend?” He slurred a few of the words, making it absolutely clear that he’d had too much to drink. “She might get cold feet about you.”

Clint stepped in front of Bobbi protectively. “What is _with_ you tonight?”

A few of the people who were dancing nearby started to glance their way. A chill ran down Bobbi’s spine.

“Uh, I think I’m going to head upstairs and say hi to Hank,” Bobbi said to Clint. “I don’t want to get in the middle of—”

“Good,” Barney said, nodding. “Go on, get out of here. And stay gone.”

“Excuse me?” Clint took a step forward, getting in Barney’s face.

Barney crossed his arms. “You heard me. You don’t need her.”

“Who are you to tell me—”

“We come all this way for a new start and the first thing you do is get involved with a girl who has no business being with you!”

“You don’t know anything about my business!” Clint shouted.

More and more people had stopped dancing and stood, watching the argument, the back-and-forth of which was starting to turn into a buzz as Bobbi looked between the two brothers. Barney turned to her and started to accuse her of something, but she was too shocked to even process whatever he was saying. She knew that they hadn’t exactly bonded at the football game, but this was crazy. She’d never in her life been accused of being a bad influence on anyone. Was this a dream?

She tried to take a step backwards, but she didn’t notice the cable on the floor until it was too late. Her foot got tangled in the cord, and she lost her balance. She fell flat on her butt at the same time that the cable popped out of the speaker jack, and the music stopped mid-song.

A hush fell over the room as everyone turned to look at the speakers, and Barney’s next words rang out.

“ _...only reason he’s even dating you is because that guy is paying him to make a fool out of you!_ ”

The party went absolutely silent. Bobbi looked up to see Barney pointing at Will Cross, who was frozen in place next to one of the beautiful front windows. Bobbi was too shocked to say anything, or even to stand up. How did Barney know about the deal? How was she supposed to react? The eyes of everyone in the party weighed on her, freezing her in place. Her classmates, the peers with whom she’d led a comfortable parallel life all these years, all of them staring at her sprawled out across the floor. Observing her. Making assumptions and judgements.

And then, suddenly, like an avenging angel, Janet Van Dyne stood in between her and the crowd. Janet pointed a finger at Will and spoke in a resolute, unwavering voice. “Get out of my house. Take with you everyone who was involved in your little arrangement and leave.” She circled her pointer finger at Elton, Dean, and Wendy, who were standing next to him. “And don’t you ever come back.”

Whispers started up around the room, and Dean Helm muttered to Will, “Let’s go, man.” The four of them made their way through the crowd, stares following them as they left. Jennifer Walters opened the door as they approached the front hall and slammed it behind them. While all that was happening, Tony came around from behind Bobbi and helped her stand up.

Once Will Cross and his friends were gone, Janet turned to Clint. “Well?”

“Um,” Clint said.

Janet put her hands on her hips. “That includes you, Barton.”

Oh, no. Janet thought—everyone thought—that Clint was just like Cross and the others. “Wait—” Bobbi started to say.

“I’ll go,” Clint said quietly.

He didn’t deserve that. But if the truth came out, what would Will do? Not getting this week’s money would be the least of their problems if he figured out that they’d tricked him from the start. And yet...Bobbi winced as Jennifer slammed the door on him as she’d done to Will. She felt Tony’s hand on her arm, steadying her.

There were a few seconds of continued silence after the door closed, but soon enough, the front hall started to clear out. Janet turned to her.

“Bobbi,” she said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Tony moved to stand next to Janet, a sympathetic look on his face. “Do you want to stay? I can order some food, or...”

“No, I...thank you. I think I need to be alone to think.” The guilt took her by surprise, although then again, so did Janet’s offer. She and Janet had never been close, or really talked at all aside from a few scattered conversations, and still, Janet had gone and stuck out her neck for her. It would have been so easy for her to just ignore the situation, but she’d gone and stood up for Bobbi in front of all of those people.

And for what? It was all a lie. When the joke had been only on Cross and his friends, it had been funny, but now Janet, who wasn’t even a friend, was wasting her emotional energy trying to make Bobbi feel better about something that had never happened.

Her stomach was starting to hurt.

“Okay.” Janet nodded in understanding. “If there’s anything I can do...”

“Thank you,” Bobbi said, sincerely meaning it.


	14. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of last chapter’s events.

After Bobbi left, the party pretty much died. Students started to trickle out without saying anything, and Jan sat down in one of the high-backed chairs in the living room, clearly not about to recharge the mood. For his part, Tony was floored. Clint had seemed like an okay guy, and Bobbi didn’t deserve this. Especially after taking a chance and coming to her first big party.

The house cleared out quickly; when almost everyone was gone, Jen looked worriedly at Jan, then whispered to Tony, “What should we do?”

It was apparent that the events of the evening had unsettled Jan deeply, and that she needed someone to talk to. He hated seeing her like this, but he was more than ready to listen to whatever she needed to say. “You know,” he said, “I think I’ve got this.”

She looked at him, then nodded. “Okay, then.” She turned towards Jan. “Jan, sweetie? You were amazing tonight. I’m so proud of you.”

Jan nodded, but it seemed like she was looking through Jen instead of at her, and that she wasn’t processing what was being said to her.

“Good luck,” Jen said to Tony. “Update me later?”

“Sure.” Tony nodded.

The door closed behind Jen and their other friends, leaving behind a ghost of the party in the silent house. Tony looked at the crushed pretzels and spilled drinks on the floor. “All right, Van Dyne. First things first. Where do we find a broom in this place?”

Jan looked up at him, an expression on her face like she was surprised to see him there. She blinked, her expression clearing. “In the pantry. I’ll get it.”

She started to stand up, but Tony put out a hand to block her. “I’m sure I can find it.”

“You don’t have to. It’s my house...it’s my mess.”

“No, I want to,” he insisted.

She told him where to look, and he was able to find the broom and dustpan fairly easily. When he came back, ready to work, he found her in a cleaning frenzy, darting around furniture to pick up trash, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Whoa.” Tony leaned against the broom. “Maybe you should slow down a second.”

Jan froze, her hands full of dirty napkins and empty cups. She dropped everything onto the closest table and turned to him with a drained look on her face. An empty red cup clattered to the floor and rolled under the table.

“Why are you taking this so hard?” Tony asked.

“I should have stopped this,” Jan said, shaking her head. “I should have...I don’t know. Do you know why I host these parties? It’s because I live in this big, beautiful house, and what’s the point, if I can’t share it? I just want people to have a good time, add some...I don’t know...sparkle to people’s lives. I know it’s a small thing, but I thought maybe if people leave my house feeling good about themselves, they’ll go pay it forward or something. But I wasn’t responsible about it, and _this_...” She ran her hands through her hair, rocking her head back and forth. “This happened right under my nose. In my _house_.”

Tony set the broom against the table and approached her, putting a hand on her arm. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay.”

“No.” She leaned into him. “It’s dumb now that I hear it out loud.”

“It’s not dumb, okay? Listen to me. It’s not dumb. You take a lot on yourself, and it makes total sense that you feel responsible for what happens under your roof, but it’s not your fault. And you did great. Thank you for standing up for Bobbi like that.”

Jan looked at him with a surprised expression on her face. “Of course.”

As if it wouldn’t even have crossed her mind to do otherwise. “You would have done it even if she weren’t my friend, wouldn’t you?” Tony asked.

She blinked. “Well, duh.”

The night was quiet for a minute, as they looked at each other. Finally, he broke the silence. “Hey, Jan?”

“Yeah, Tony?”

“If I tell you that I want to be your boyfriend again, will you believe me?”

She lowered her head, but he caught the grin anyway. “I don’t know,” she answered, a playful inflection in her voice. “Why don’t you try it and see?”

\--

The music and chatter had died out a while ago, so Hank figured it was safe to go downstairs and check the fridge. He’d forgotten to bring food upstairs before the party started, and his stomach was beginning to rumble audibly. Setting his laptop down on the bed, he got up and peeked down the stairs to make sure the coast was clear.

As it turned out, all of the guests were gone, save one last straggler.

Tony. Who was in the middle of swapping spit with Janet Van Dyne.

Hank saw red.

Sensing his presence, Tony and Jan jumped apart. She looked embarrassed; he just looked guilty.

“Oh, crap,” Tony said. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

“Find out?” Hank repeated. He took a step backward as the pulse in his ears started to get louder. “How long has this been going on?”

“Well—” Tony started.

Hank cut him off. “It doesn’t matter. Fuck.” Looking at the two of them, how close they stood together, even now, it was clear that he’d been all wrong about the dynamics at play. It wasn’t Tony in the middle of two reluctant stepsiblings—it was Tony and Janet against _him_. The thumping in his ears grew more persistent. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. You were on her side from the start. I bet you never asked _her_ to give _me_ the benefit of the doubt.”

“First of all, that’s—” Tony said, then stopped and tried again. “I’m not on anyone’s side, Hank. This doesn’t change anything between you and me.”

Hank shook his head. “I can’t believe you, Tony. I thought you were my friend. And of all the people you could choose to hook up with, you pick someone who goes out of her way to make me uncomfortable, who uses her considerable social clout to make me feel unwelcome not only at school but also in what’s supposed to be my _house_. And none of that means anything to you?”

Jan pointed a finger at him and opened her mouth to respond, but Tony spoke first. “Of course it means something to me! I’ve always tried my best to help smooth your way around, but it doesn’t help that you approach _every single_ conflict by getting angry and flying off the rails!”

Hank felt his hands curl into fists at the accusation. How _dare_ he? Didn’t he realize how much effort it took for him _not_ to lose his cool at every irritant? How hard he worked to school his reactions? _I’ll show him_ , said the nasty voice inside Hank’s head. _Let him see what you’re like when you don’t hold yourself back._

And then, the _Consequences_ voice: _Go ahead, Hank, prove him right. Show him that you can’t be trusted, that you’re a ticking bomb just waiting to bring the building down with you. Destroy everything that you’ve worked so hard for._

He took a deep breath, slowly loosened his fists, and wiped the sweat from his palms onto his pants.

“Don’t do me any favors by pretending to tolerate me,” Hank said in a clipped voice. “It’s much more refreshing when you’re honest. You didn’t have to pretend to be my friend in order to spend time with Janet; she clearly enjoys your company.”

“What is your _problem_?” Janet burst out. “Why are you so determined to hate me?”

“Me?” Hank said, incredulous. “Why are you so determined to _torture_ me? I try not to complain about all your parties, but when it’s past midnight, and I’m _tired_ , and all I want to do is get some sleep in my own—well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s _not_ my house. It’s your house, and nobody ever asked me if I wanted to live here!”

Janet crossed her arms. “I tried, you know. _You_ didn’t even give me a chance,” she stated.

“I made a completely reasonable request—”

“Asking me to change my life around is not giving me a chance!”

“—and you retaliated by stealing my earplugs and making fun of me! You’re a bully, Janet Van Dyne, that’s what you are.” He turned back to Tony. “And you picked her over me.”

“I didn’t pick her over you, you self-centered ass,” Tony said in an exasperated voice. “She’s a good person who doesn’t have all the facts, and maybe if you would just swallow your damn pride and tell her about your SPD, you would realize that not everyone in the world is out to get you!”

“SP what?” Janet asked.

Tony opened his mouth to explain, but Hank cut him off. “Please don’t, Tony,” he said softly, panicking inside at the thought of his personal circumstances being spread around the school. “This is _my_ thing.”

Tony hesitated, then sighed and shook his head. Turning to Jan, he explained, “Hank has Sensory Processing Disorder, which means he’s very sensitive to certain sensations, and when his senses get overloaded, he can’t deal with it. So, loud noises are a problem. That’s why he needs his earplugs; that’s why he needs that weighted blanket he brought with us to Boston. He doesn’t tell anyone, because he’s embarrassed about it, but then he resents people for not handling him with kid gloves, even though he doesn’t respect them enough to—”

“I shouldn’t _have_ to!” Hank yelled. “I shouldn’t have to present an official diagnosis to receive basic consideration! It’s not anyone else’s business. And you...you had _no right_.”

“Go to hell, Hank.” Tony threw up his middle finger and walked out, footsteps clacking against the hardwood floor. The door opened and then swung shut, and Hank was left alone with his bemused stepsister.

Hank stared at the front door, waiting for Tony to come back, wanting to get the last word in. If he did, if they could work it out...

But one minute passed, and then another, and it was clear that Tony was gone, that Hank had driven him away. _Shit_. Hank walked into the living room and sunk down into the couch, putting his head in his hands.

He hadn’t noticed Janet’s going to the kitchen, but she joined him on the couch after a minute, holding two cups of beer. Wordlessly, she handed him one, and he accepted. He took a drink and tried not to wince at the sour, unpleasant taste. Instead of finishing the beer, he held it on his knee and stared into his cup, watching the bubbles rise to the surface of the amber liquid.

“I’m sorry about the earplugs,” Janet said.

_It’s okay_. That was what he was supposed to say. But he was too emotionally drained to have any sort of heavy conversation at the moment.

“So,” Janet continued, “on the one hand, I feel like we should definitely sit down and have a talk, but on the other hand, now’s not really the time. Aren’t you really good friends with Bobbi? Shouldn’t you be checking on her?”

Hank looked up and squinted at her. “Why, what’s wrong with Bobbi?”

\--

A block away from her house, Bobbi turned around and drove straight to Clint’s. She was raw and reeling, and all she knew was that she needed to see him. As she walked down the hallway toward his apartment, she could see light creeping out from under the door, so someone was definitely up. Gathering up her courage, she knocked.

She heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and a few seconds later, the sounds of a lock turning. Barney Barton opened the door a crack, standing squarely in front of her to block her entrance. “What do _you_ want?”

He was glaring at her like she had done something wrong, which made no sense. From his perspective, she was a victim, preyed upon by his brother. Even if he didn’t like her, he should have at least felt a _little_ bad for her.

For her part, her anger at him was genuine. She may not have been a dupe, but she was made to look like one in public, and for what?

Bobbi crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “I’m here to talk to your brother.”

He scoffed. “Sucker for punishment, huh? Wait here.” He slammed the door shut in her face, causing her to jump backwards. She waited there for a few minutes, and then Clint came out. He closed the door behind him as he came out into the hallway.

“We, um, should probably go somewhere where we can talk,” Bobbi said.

He nodded. “Follow me.”

He led her down the stairs and across the street, into a little park with a single swing set and a large maple tree surrounded by wood chips. A street light shone onto them from in front of his building, casting elongated shadows onto the grass. They were in plain sight of anyone looking out a window, but it was enough privacy to speak freely.

“So, I guess the jig is up,” he said.

“Yeah.”

Clint sent a glance across the street, toward his building. “I’m really sorry about what happened. I don’t know what his problem is.”

“It’s me; he hates me. And it goes both ways. What a jerk.”

“He’s not really...” Clint’s voice trailed off as she gave him a look. “Well, okay, Barney can be a jerk, he’s not usually _cruel_ like that, I promise.”

“He made you look bad, too,” Bobbi pointed out. “Now everyone thinks you’re a guy who would pretend to be into a girl for money.”

“I know.”

She sighed. “I wish we could tell everyone the truth. But I’m kind of afraid of how Will would react.”

“I don’t want to find out.” He paused. “You don’t think he’d rat Barney out about the dealing, would he? I’m sorry, I know you probably couldn’t care less about Barney’s wellbeing right now, but...”

“But he’s still your brother and it’d tear your family apart if he went to jail?” she finished for him.

“Yeah, that.”

They settled into silence for a few minutes, neither of them knowing what to say. Everything was going to change, and she hadn’t been at all prepared.

Finally, he piped up with an ironically chipper, “Well...I guess we fooled everyone, huh?”

“Yeah...go us.” She kicked at the dirt, making some pebbles jump a few inches into the air.

“It was fun while it lasted, though.”

Bobbi looked up at him and smiled half-heartedly. “It was,” she agreed.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Stop apologizing; you didn’t do anything wrong. You know that and I know that.” She itched to take his hand in hers, but that was what she would have done _before_. That sort of thing was all over now; it had to be. Right? 

“If I had just said no to Cross from the beginning...”

Bobbi shook her head. “Come on, don’t do that. Don’t take away the good times just because of the way it ended.”

He nodded. “Right.”

“How do we act in school on Monday?” she asked.

“I dunno...how would you act if you weren’t in on it?”

“I wouldn’t talk to you. I’d pretend you didn’t exist.”

“That makes sense.”

He didn’t deserve that. She didn’t want to pretend he didn’t exist. She wanted to put everything back the way it was, to sit with him in front of the lockers, her hand resting on his, leaning against his arm while they spoke about the things going on in their lives.

“Hey, uh,” Clint started, “maybe, when this all blows over—” she looked up, heart in her throat, “—we can be friends.”

Friends. Better than nothing. “Yeah, of course.” She tried to grin as she said, “Might be a while, though—I hold a pretty mean grudge.”

He snorted. “Oh, listen, I have this week’s money—” He shoved his hand into his pocket.

“Clint, no,” she protested, a wave of shame washing over her. “I don’t want it. Please don’t make me.”

“Well, I don’t want it, either.” He held the bills in his open palm as if daring the wind to come and take them away. “My plan was to give my half to my mom, but I still haven’t figured out what to tell her about where it came from. It’s all sitting under my mattress at home.”

“Tell her you’re dealing drugs,” Bobbi suggested with a smirk.

“She’ll love that.” Clint hesitated but eventually put the money back into his pocket. “I’ll just put this with the rest of it and we can decide what to do with it later.”

 

\--

After Bobbi left, Clint went back upstairs and found Barney in the living room, watching television. They hadn’t spoken since leaving Janet’s. Clint had been too angry to come up with words in the car, and he’d wanted to wait until Barney was more sober for the confrontation. It seemed like now was the time.

Barney looked up when he walked in. “Is she gone?”

“Yes, thanks to you,” Clint snapped. “What were you thinking? Why would you embarrass her like that in front of everyone? She’s never done anything to you.”

“Clint, why are you making dumbass deals like that in the first place? You know it would have blown up in your face eventually.”

“Well, thanks to _you_ ,” Clint pointed out angrily.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Barney shook his head. “What was your long-term plan here, huh? What kind of career trajectory is there in taking out a girl for cash?” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Actually, I do,” Barney said. “I know you made a deal with her. Heard the two of you planning and talking about splitting the money.”

Well, that...that was just perfect. “If you knew, why’d you mess it up?”

“Apparently, I’m the only one looking out for you. Dating a girl who’s only with you for the money, Clint? On purpose? I knew you were a soft heart, but this is a new record.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh, don’t be so naive; it’s exactly like that. Do you know how messed up it is that every single girl you’ve ever dated has had ulterior motives? None of them liked you for you. You needed to break that cycle.”

“Or you’ll do it for me, is that right?”

“Well, someone needs to look after you if you won’t do it yourself! It’s Sheila and Tasha and Eden and every other girl you’ve ever had a crush on, all over again. You were fooling yourself thinking that she cares about you.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Clint insisted, though he knew it wasn’t true; the raw feeling in his gut was proof enough. He’d wanted to believe that Bobbi cared for him, that she would want to be with him even once the bet was over, and something inside of him still held onto the hope that there was something real there.

“What is it with you and always picking the wrong ones?” Barney shook his head. “You know perfectly well a girl like that would never have looked twice at you if not for that scheme. Why couldn’t you have just kept working for me? We could have expanded our client base, gotten Mom out of debt—without getting anybody’s stupid heart broken. _Again_.”

“Until we got caught. Mom would just _love_ it if we ended up in juvie,” Clint said. “And while we’re at it, don’t lump Tasha in with Sheila and Eden. That was a totally different situation, and you know it.”

Barney shook his head and turned back to the TV. “You’re too soft-hearted.”

Maybe he was. But he would rather have gotten his heart stomped on a thousand times than turn into a cynic.


	15. Tell You All About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few characters finally talk about things they’ve been bottling in.

Hank slept in late on Saturday morning. After getting the full story from Janet, he’d tried to get in touch with Bobbi to see how she was feeling, but she hadn’t answered his called or responded to his texts. Even if she’d been in on the joke all along, it couldn’t be easy to have Clint’s “deception” it announced in front of the whole school. Especially when there was a kernel of truth to the idea that he’d only been dating her for the money.

Someone knocked on his door, startling him out of his thoughts. “Come in,” he called, assuming it was either his mom or Janet.

The door opened, and instead, Greer came inside. He startled and sat up straight, then realized he was wearing pajama pants and no shirt. An involuntary squeak escaped from his mouth, and he jumped off his bed and went to his dresser, opened and slammed shut two different drawers before finding the right one, and pulled out the first t-shirt from the pile. Behind him, Greer tried—and failed—to hold in her laughter.

Hank pulled the shirt on, then turned around to face her. He could feel his face on fire.

“You know, I’ve seen you without a shirt before,” she pointed out.

“There’s a difference between being shirtless at the pool and being shirtless in my bedroom.” He may have had dreams about being shirtless with her in his bedroom, but he was used to repressing those. It wasn’t like he wasn’t suited for a relationship with anyone.

Greer looked around the bedroom, taking it in. It was the first time she’d been in here, he realized. The two of them and Bobbi had spent plenty of time in his room at his old house, but he hadn’t had any friends over since the move. 

“This house is...wow. I can’t believe you live here.”

“Weird, right?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t invited us over yet! Keeping it all to yourself.”

“Hardly. It just...it’s all too new, I don’t know.”

“I can imagine. All this space for so few people.” She moved over to his bed and sat down. “Have you heard from Bobbi?”

Hank shook his head. “She’s not answering my calls.”

“Mine, neither.”

“But...she was in on it the whole time, so it can’t be that bad, right? I mean, I know everyone knows about it now—or they know the fake version—but since when does Bobbi care about what everyone thinks?”

“I just wish she would call. You know?”

“Yeah.”

They fell silent for a few minutes, and then Hank remembered the other thing that had happened. “In other news, Tony and Janet are together now. I think.”

Greer raised her eyebrows. “Really. That’s interesting.”

“I walked in on them kissing. Then I said a bunch of horrible things that were probably uncalled for, and then he told her about my SPD.”

“Sounds like you had quite an eventful evening.”

He put his head in his hands, remembering the accusations he'd hurled. Janet had been nicer than he'd deserved in the aftermath. Whereas Tony...Tony would probably never speak to him again. And rightly so.

“Why do you guys put up with me?”

“Uh, because we’re not assholes?”

“Tony’s not an asshole. I just pushed him to the breaking point.”

“There’s no such thing as a breaking point, dude. Isn’t that part of your mantra? ‘The only thing I can control is how I react’? Tony’s responsible for his own actions, just like you are.”

“I didn’t make it easy for him, though.” He laughed bitterly. “Didn’t make it easy for myself, either. I know I should have just told her from the start. But I don't want my disabilities to be the only thing people see in me. Sometimes I just want to be _Hank_.”

“Hey.” She put her hand on his wrist. “You _are_ Hank. That’s how we see you. And yeah, we see your SPD, but we also see your loyalty and your sense of humor and your dumb genius brain. And Tony’s right about one thing—Janet’s better than you give her credit for—though the earplugs thing was a dick move—and once she gets to know you, she’ll see all those things about you, too.”

He swallowed, overwhelmed by emotion. “You promise?”

“Cross my heart,” she said. “And aren’t I always right?”

\--

Clint had an essay due on Monday, which meant he could spend his entire afternoon working on the assignment and not thinking about anything else. He sat at the kitchen table with a notebook and a bowl of popcorn in front of him, trying to think of ways to compare and contrast the different Arthur Miller protagonists they’d read in class.

A shadow fell over the table, and Clint looked up. His mom stood there with a phone in her hand, looking worried. She sat down next to him and put the phone down on the table. “That was a Mrs. Maximoff on the phone, the mother of one of your classmates, and she told me something that, frankly...I don’t know what to do with.”

Oh, no. Maximoff—that was Wanda's last name. She must have gone home and told her parents what had happened. Clint leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Okay," she said, her voice a little bit _too_ even. "I want to trust you, but...”

But his genes. But fifty percent of him came from his father, his rat bastard father who used to get drunk and smash bottles and give her bruises. He gave Clint and Barney bruises, too, but it made sense for her to be wary of him anyway.

“I promise, Mom.” He told her the story from the beginning, leaving out the part about the pot, but explaining how he’d told Bobbi the truth from their first encounter, and how they’d been partners all along. He told her about Bobbi seeing their house and offering to let him keep the money and how it had wounded his pride and she’d apologized. He told her about the party, again without mentioning Barney, just saying the someone in the know had told everyone about the deal, and that the hostess had thrown him out of the house, but that he and Bobbi were still secretly on good terms. “See? Nobody got hurt.”

His mom put a hand on his shoulder and tilted her head at him.

“Well,” Clint amended. “Nobody was supposed to get hurt.”

“Oh, honey.” She held out her arms, and he stood and buried his head in her chest like a newborn. Before he knew it, he was crying into her shirt.

Clint pulled away, looking for a tissue. “Don’t want to ruin your shirt,” he explained, sniffling. She brought over a box of tissues and a chair for herself so that they could both sit.

“Okay,” his mom said as she sat down. “Let’s talk about this.”

By this point, the tears were starting to dry up, he was more embarrassed than anything else. He’d made a mess of everything, that was for sure.

“You know you’re just a kid, right?” she continued. “I don’t expect you to provide for the family.”

“I know, but if I _can_ —”

“And put your future at stake? _Clint_.”

“I know.” God. Everything she’d sacrificed for him, and he’d gone and done something so stupid. A thought occurred to him: There were schools with zero-tolerance policies on bullying. He didn’t know if his new school was one of them. What if this got him expelled? “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

“No, I’m sorry. I was trying to shelter you from the money stuff, and obviously _that_ backfired.” She smiled ruefully and put her hand on his head, playing with his hair. “I really don’t want you to worry about that stuff, though, okay? I budgeted for this move, and the power was a one-time thing. Trust me, will you? You have enough on your plate with school. Let me be the adult here.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “Mom...I feel like you’ve invested so much in my future and I don’t know if I can live up to your expectations.”

She gave him a perplexed look. “My expectations?”

“You did all this to get me into a good school district, and I’m trying, but my grades haven’t turned around like you thought they would. And college—four more years of this—I just don’t know if I can do that.”

“Clint. Honey. You think you could ever disappoint me? Look at you. You gave up on half the money you were offered because you didn’t want to take advantage of a girl you’d never met. Sweetie, I’m _proud_ of you. That means more than grades ever could.”

“But you moved for this.”

“Yes, I did. My job as a parent is to provide you and your brother with what you need to keep you safe and to flourish. I didn’t do that job for most of your lives—”

“Mom, no, that’s not—”

“But now,” she continued over his protests, “I finally have that opportunity. And I’m going to make it right for Barney, too. Just because he’s eighteen doesn’t mean it’s too late for him. I’m doing it because you’re my sons, not because I’m expecting something in return. Well, except for a villa in Paris when I retire, of course.”

“Of course,” Clint repeated, fighting a smile.

“If college isn’t right for you, if you want to do something else, that’s fine.” She reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “I just want you to have the opportunity. If you don’t go to college, I want it to be a choice you make for yourself. And if you want to go to college, I want you to have the option.”

“Mom, you don’t know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for our family. But I can’t just take and take. I need to contribute, too.”

“Well. Maybe we can come to a compromise.”

\--

“We're out of milk,” Bobbi's mother said. She held up the empty bottle as evidence. 

“Well, I didn't do it,” Ben deadpanned from the couch, where he was curled up with a book. 

“Very funny. Bobbi, are you busy? Can you make a trip to the store?”

“Oh,” Bobbi said. She looked out the window and blinked at the sunlight. She hadn’t left the house since Friday night. It was now Sunday afternoon, and she was still in pajamas from the night before. “I guess I should get dressed.”

“I’ll go,” Ben said suddenly. It made Bobbi frown—Ben never went out of his way to be helpful, especially not toward her.

“Don’t be silly, it’ll take too long to walk,” their mom said. “If you need to get something, go with Bobbi.”

Ben looked at Bobbi. “If that’s okay?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

 _He knows_ , she realized suddenly. Except that it was a lie—he thought he knew something that made him feel sorry for her, was making him be nice to her, but it wasn’t true.

“Can you pick up eggs, too?” their mother added.

In the car, he buckled up without needing her to remind him, and he didn’t play around with the radio stations. She wondered who’d told him—and what he had heard.

She pulled into the giant parking lot and found a spot easily. They got out and started walking to the store, but of all people to run into, there was Tony. For a split second, Bobbi considered whether she could pretend she hadn’t seen him, but it was too late—he’d already made eye contact and was walking in their direction. She still didn’t know what to say to people, especially ones she was supposedly friends with.

“I’ll go in and get the bread,” Ben muttered as they walked.

“And milk. Thanks.” She handed him the money her mom had given her, and he darted around Tony and headed for the entrance, leaving the two of them alone next to a line of blue shopping carts.

“Hey,” Tony said.

“Hey.”

There was an awkward pause, and then Tony said, “Everyone’s been worried about you.”

Bobbi swallowed. “I know, I just...I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I mean, it must have been a huge blow. He seemed like a really nice guy.” Tony shook his head. “What kind of scum lies to a girl like that?”

God, she hated that Tony thought that. And it was his fault—she was one of the schemers, and everyone was treating her like a victim.

“...what else he was lying about,” Tony was saying. “It makes me so mad!”

“Stop.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Tony gave her a curious look. “He told me about the deal in advance.” She told him the whole story and watched his mouth drop.

“You’re kidding. You were in on it all along? Jan has been beating herself up over it all weekend!”

That surprised her. “What? Why? It’s not her fault.”

“She feels bad about not being more careful who’s allowed in the front door, because Clint met Cross and the others at one of her parties.”

“What? That’s...not how it works. I don’t think that’s even how they met.”

“Well, yeah, I told her she was being too hard on herself. But why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought you wouldn’t understand?”

“Honestly? I _don’t_ understand. Why’d you do it, Bobbi?”

Bobbi sighed, trying to find the words. Having had the better part of a weekend to reflect, she'd come up with several realizations about her behavior, some of them less flattering to herself than others. The old fallback was that she wanted to beat Will Cross at his own game, but the truth was that she would have said yes even if that hadn't been a factor. 

Clint had made a good impression, and if she was being completely honest with herself, she'd been attracted to him from the minute they'd met. On top of that, there was a part of her sick of being the only person she knew her age who had never experienced being “liked.” But that seemed too pathetic to admit.

All she said was, “I can't really explain it. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“If you say so,” he said. “So what are you going to do now?”

“Play along, I guess.” She didn’t love the idea, but they were in too deep to do anything else.

“That’ll be awkward.” Tony shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out at the parking lot. “Have you checked in with Hank yet?”

Bobbi shook her head. “You’re the first person I’ve spoken to, outside of my immediate family, in over twenty-four hours.”

“Well, yours wasn’t the only drama Friday night.” He filled her in on what she’d missed. “Man, I was such an ass to Hank. I may have permanently ruined our friendship.”

“Ha! It’d be pretty hypocritical of him not to forgive someone for lashing out in anger.” She loved Hank, but she’d been friends with him long enough to be well aware of his weaknesses.

“Maybe it was a mistake to pursue things with Jan. I mean...don’t get me wrong, I really like her. But Hank’s been one of my best friends since _forever_.”

“No, Tony, come on. I love Hank, but he doesn’t get to dictate who you go out with.”

“I can’t believe I spilled his secrets just because I was mad at him.”

“Well. We all make mistakes.”

“You think he’ll forgive me?”

Bobbi caught a glance of Ben coming out of the store with a bag in his hand, heading their way. She turned to Tony. “You’ll never know until you talk to him.”


	16. When I See You Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to school for more party fallout.

Bobbi was having a weird day.

She hadn’t known what to expect when she walked into school Monday morning. Maybe some stares from across the hallway, maybe whispers or laughter behind her back. But to her surprise, it was the other way around—people were actually being _friendly_.

It had started when she’d arrived in the morning. The girl in front of her—Heather something?—had opened the front door of the building for her. “Thanks,” Bobbi had said, kind of surprised.

“No problem,” Heather had replied with an amicable smile. “Have a great day.”

And it had gone on, all day. Greetings in the hallway from people who’d never spoken to her before, people letting her cut in front of them in the lunch line or for the bathroom, compliments on her outfit, and so on. It made her wonder if everyone pitied her because of what had happened at the party, although this was nothing like the type of pity she’d experienced after her father had disappeared. No one had held doors open for her then.

Lost in her thoughts, Bobbi collided with a body, someone walking in her direction. She grabbed at her books to make sure they didn’t fall, then looked up into Clint Barton’s blue eyes.

God, those eyes were _blue_.

“Oh!” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, trying to clear it. “No, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

He surveyed the hallway before answering, and she followed his lead, looking to see that there were a few people nearby trying to sneak surreptitious looks at them. She rolled her eyes and looked back at him.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Good. That’s good.”

“I’m just going...” She pointed down the hallway where he’d come from.

“Yeah. And I’m...” He pointed in the other direction.

They paused, and then she said in a lowered voice, “You know, I know we’re not fake-dating anymore, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be friends.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper and replied, “That’s...I’d like that, except what about all _that_?” He jerked his shoulder in the direction of some kids watching them from down the hallway, who quickly looked away at his gesture, pretending to be busy with their lockers. “Anytime we’re in the same vicinity, people I’ve never even met will watch us to see what’s going to happen.”

“Who cares? It’s none of their business. And anyway, gossip has a short shelf life. It’ll all blow over by the end of the week.”

“Let’s hope.” He gave a fatigued sigh, and—oh, no. The realization dawned on her.

“You’re probably not getting quite the treatment I am, are you?”

“I don’t know what that means,” he said, plainly confused.

The eyes on her back were starting to become unbearable. “Come on,” she said, motioning for him to follow her. Finding an empty classroom nearby, they went inside to get some privacy. Closing the door, Bobbi turned to him and said, “Everyone’s been weirdly nice to me all day. I mean, not ‘weirdly nice,’ but it’s weird that they’re being nice.”

“Well, that’s great. You’re great. They should be nice.”

She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “That’s very nice of you, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“Your—? Oh. Well, no one is talking to me. It’s not much of a change, honestly; I haven’t even been at this school for two months, so my ‘social circle’ _was_ basically just you and your friends. But people have been, like, glaring at me. It’s not so bad, though. No one’s tied my shoelaces together or spilled hot glue on my pants.”

Bobbi sighed. “I wish I could help.”

“It’ll be fine. You said yourself, stuff blows over. And I’m not kidding, it could be much worse. One time, at my old school, someone went into the locker room during gym and set my shoes on fire because I sat at his lunch table.”

“Wow.”

“You’re telling me. That locker room probably _still_ smells like burnt rubber.”

“Still. I could tell more people the truth.”

“Somehow, I don’t think the truth will make things better.”

“Maybe not. It’s none of their business.”

“They mean well.”

“You’re too nice.”

“Funny,” he said wryly. “My brother said the same thing.”

\--

After school, Clint headed towards the bus stop. On top of everything else going on, Barney’s car had started to make weird noises over the weekend, and he’d had to bring it into the shop. As it turned out, the town had a very limited public transportation system that worked for getting him to and from school. The bus only came once every thirty minutes, and he would have to walk another ten minutes home after disembarking, but it was better than biking, which would have gotten him to school all sweaty and gross.

He tightened the straps of his backpack as he walked up the hill, past the cute suburban houses that surrounded the school campus. A shadow fell on the sidewalk, and he looked up to see a fancy yellow sports car pulling. up next to him. The passenger-side window slid down as the car slowed, and Clint took a moment to appreciate the novelty of anyone in a fancy yellow sports car ever wanting to talk to him before realizing that he recognized the driver. “Need a ride?” Tony Stark asked from inside.

Surprised, Clint quickly glanced to his right to check if there was someone next to him that Tony was talking to, but he was the only one around. “Sure, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Tony said as Clint got inside. “Where am I taking you?”

The inside of the car was as impressive as the outside, with a spotless black interior and shiny chrome trim outlining the dashboard. Trying not to let the awe show on his face, Clint gave him the address, and Tony turned at the corner, heading towards Clint’s neighborhood. Now that Bobbi knew where he lived, Clint was ready to give up on keeping it a secret. He was a little wary, but only because as far as he knew, Tony wasn’t on the list of people who knew the real story between him and Bobbi, so there was probably at least a 15 percent chance that Tony was planning on murdering him and dumping the body somewhere.

Tony didn’t mention Friday night’s events, though—instead, he started talking about a pop quiz he’d had in Physics that day. “I wasn’t ready at _all_ ,” he said. “Jones has a reputation, though. For pop quizzes. So I should have expected it. And we have a test in Greek on Wednesday, so that’s fun.”

At the next corner, Tony turned away to check oncoming traffic and then made a turn. Afterward, he looked at Clint with an expectant expression on his face.

“What?” Clint asked.

“I asked if you're taking a foreign language this year.”

“Oh. Yeah. Spanish,” he answered. “Sorry, you were just looking the other way, so I didn’t hear you.”

Tony gave him a strange look. “What, you mean, like, at all?”

Clint shrugged. He wasn’t sure what was weird about what he’d said. “What?”

“Nothing,” Tony said. “It’s just that you don’t wear hearing aids, so I didn’t realize.”

“Didn’t realize _what_?” Clint asked, impatient. What was Tony’s point?

“That you’re hard of hearing. Don’t worry; I’m not going to be an asshole about it. This guy Pedro in Engineering Club is deaf and wears hearing aids, so I know the drill.”

Clint’s mind reeled. Tony was saying all of this so casually as if it were a foregone conclusion, but he’d never even considered the possibility that he might have a problem with his hearing. Sure, he missed conversations sometimes and had a terrible time picking things up in class, but that was just the typical ADHD that modern television-watching habits had inflicted on the entire generation, wasn’t it?

“Hey, are you okay?” Tony asked, looking concerned.

“Uh, yeah.” Snapping himself out of it, Clint turned to Tony. “Are you...are you saying that it’s not normal to have trouble hearing people when you can’t see their lips?”

Tony shrugged. “I mean, I think most people use it to some extent or a—wait, so you’re _not_ deaf?”

“I...don’t know,” Clint said slowly. It wasn’t like he’d ever had anyone else’s hearing to compare his to. And it could help explain why classes had always been so hard to follow, especially since teachers turned around so often to write on the board. If it wasn’t a problem with his attention span...

“This is kind of a big moment for you, huh?” Tony said.

“I guess.” He laughed in disbelief. “Understatement of the year.”

He would have to talk to his mom, and probably see a doctor. How did people go about getting diagnosed for this kind of thing?

“Hey,” Clint said as Tony turned onto his block, “um—your friend Pedro?”

“Want me to introduce you?” Tony asked.

“Could you?”

“Of course.” Tony stopped in front of Clint’s building and looked up and down the block quickly. “Not to put my foot in my mouth again, but if it turns out you do need hearing aids or surgery or whatever...my parents have, like, a thousand foundations, and I’m sure at least one of them has something to do with medical expenses for, uh, disadvantaged youth. If it’s relevant. Whatever. I’m just saying.”

“Good to know...theoretically,” Clint responded lightly. He’d reacted too hastily when he’d thought Bobbi was offering him charity, and he didn’t want to make the same mistake again. In any case, Tony wasn’t offering him anything out of his own pocket. And he might need it—if he needed hearing aids, there was no way that would be cheap.

“Or you could just ask Bobbi for your half of the money back,” Tony quipped.

Clint’s jaw dropped. “She told you?”

“Do you think I’d be giving you a ride if she hadn’t?”

Right. “Good point,” Clint admitted.

\--

Rhodey was home again the next weekend, and he was waiting for Tony in the parking lot before Friday night’s game.

“What’s this I hear about you and Jan?” he asked.

Tony couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face. “It’s true,” he admitted. They got their tickets and found a place to sit while they waited for Jan and their other friends to join them.

“Who told you, anyway?” Tony asked.

“Sam. He and Jan are apparently like this now.” Rhodey crossed his fingers and held them up. “The new girlfriend and the new boyfriend, teaming up for protection?”

“What, you know about that?” Tony said, referring to Sam and Steve’s relationship. He groaned. “I’m so lost with all of these secrets everyone’s holding onto—I can’t keep anything straight anymore.”

“Obligatory joke about no one around here being straight,” Rhodey deadpanned. “So what’s all this about more secrets?”

“Damn it!” Tony swore. “Duct-tape my mouth for me, will you?”

Jan and Jen arrived then. “Rhodey!” Jen exclaimed. She gave them a big smile and kissed Rhodey’s cheek. “What brings you home?”

He winked. “Ran out of clean underwear.”

“Cute.”

Everyone settled in as the players took the field, and the conversations were put on hold for a few minutes so that they could watch the game.

“I really miss playing football sometimes,” Rhodey mused, eyes on the field. “What about you, Tony? Ever miss it?”

“Oh, no, not that question!” Tony said, laughing and shaking his head. “If I say yes, I get everyone on my back to get back in it, and if I say no, I’m a liar.”

“Wait ‘til you get to college,” Rhodey told him. “No one believes me that I used to play. They assume that if I were any good, I’d be playing for the school.” He cocked his head in thought, then added, “Then again, I haven’t played competitively in two years. I’m probably _not_ that good anymore.”

“Want to scrimmage tomorrow afternoon?” Tony asked. “I’m sure I can get a bunch of people together.”

Out on the field, Sam caught a throw from Steve and started to run. He deftly avoided the other team’s linebacker, and Tony’s question was momentarily forgotten as they began shouting Sam’s name until he reached the end zone. The crowd went wild as the new score went up on the scoreboard.

The noise died down as the team set up for the kick. Jen nudged Tony with her elbow. “Make it flag and count me in.” Despite attending all the school games, Jen was a vocal opponent of tackle football. She had statistics memorized for head injuries and brain damage in every level of the sport. If Tony were to be completely honest, her frequent citing of the risks and numbers had probably had a hand in Tony’s decision to drop football.

“Deal,” Tony said.

“Have you decided on a major?” Jan asked Rhodey.

He shook his head. “Not yet. I’m thinking some type of engineering, but it’s still early.”

Tony and Jan had plans to go out on their first real date after the game ended, so they said goodbye and headed out to the parking lot. As they walked toward his car, Jan slipped her hand into his, for the first time in public. She gave him a shy grin as she did, and he felt his heart soar.

A few rows before they reached his car, Tony spotted Hank rummaging through the trunk of his own car, and he tensed up.

Jan glanced at Hank, who hadn’t noticed them yet, then looked at Tony. “What are you thinking?”

“I need to set things right,” Tony said to her. He’d been looking forward to going out on a proper date with her all week, but seeing Hank standing alone like that threw him completely off-balance.

“Invite him. We’ll have the date another time,” Jan said, and he felt a rush of affection for her. She really did have the warmest heart out of anyone he knew.

“Hank!” Tony called, walking over.

Hank looked up.

“Jan and I are going out for ice cream, and we’d really like for you to join us.”

Hank’s mouth dropped open, and he looked between Tony and Jan like he was trying to figure out if it was a trick, which Tony would have taken offense at if he hadn’t known Hank as well as he did.

Tony dropped Janet’s hand. “Henry Jonathan Pym, you are coming with me and Jan and you _will_ be eating ice cream. No arguments.”

Hank’s face turned red, but he cracked a smile. “Well...if you’re paying...”

“ _I’m_ paying,” Jan said. “And you’re both eating.”

\--

The bleachers emptied out after the game, and Bobbi decided to take advantage of the opportunity to check on her biology project.

“How are you going to get in?” Greer asked.

“I’ve got a key,” Bobbi said. At the gleam in Greer’s eye, she hastily added, “No, I’m sorry, I love you, but I am not going to take advantage of Dr. Calvin’s trust in me to help you with any schemes that could jeopardize my access, no matter how righteous the cause.”

“Aww, you’re no fun.” Greer pouted, but she let the matter drop.

The hallways were dark, giving the school a horror-movie vibe. Inside the biology lab, Bobbi flipped the lights on and went over to the refrigerator where she kept the samples she’d started working on. She booted up her computer and started to take measurements of the different compounds she’d put together, recording all the numbers in her spreadsheet. While she worked, Greer sat on the lab table with her legs dangling over the side, tapping at her phone.

Bobbi finished up her work and put everything away, double-checking to make sure everything was in its proper spot. After powering down the computer, she turned to Greer. “Okay. What’s next on the schedule?”

Greer showed Bobbi her phone. “Hank says he’s at ice cream with Tony and Jan.”

“Tony and Jan—really? Are we invited?”

Greer gave her a look that said _Since when do I wait for an invitation?_

So they drove to the ice cream shop to find the trio sitting together at a table, enjoying their cones. It was a bizarre sight, after all the tension of the past few months.

Tony looked up as they walked in. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said dryly, shooting a look at Hank.

“Pull up a seat,” Jan added.

“What happened to Rhodey?” Bobbi asked. “I didn’t get a chance to say hi.”

“He’ll be around all weekend,” Tony said. “If any of you are up for a game of flag football tomorrow, I’ll add you to the group chat.”

Bobbi had never played, but it could be fun, she figured. It made her think of the afternoon she and Clint had spent at the arcade. They’d made a pretty poor showing, especially at the game with the basketball hoop, but they’d had a great time anyway.

Immediately, she ached for Clint’s presence. Maybe their relationship had been fake, but it had still meant something to her, and she missed it—him. The way he would look her in the eye when she made him laugh, the way he listened when she talked, like it mattered, like a promise that they would still be part of each other’s lives even now that this stupid bet was over. Despite her intentions, it was turning out to be harder than she’d expected to stay friends. Between her confused feelings about him and the curious stares that followed them every time they so much as passed in the hallway, things just seemed less complicated when they stuck to themselves.

While she’d been busy ruminating, Hank and Greer had both agreed to show up tomorrow. “Bobbi?” Tony asked. “You in, too?”

Bobbi pushed the melancholic thoughts away. She was grateful to have friends who cared about her and who made sure to include her, and that was what she should be focusing on. “Yeah,” she answered. “I’ll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pedro Perez, a.k.a. Blue Ear, is a deaf superhero introduced in the Iron Man: Sound Effects comic, which is free to read [online](http://read.marvel.com/#/labelbook/40645).


	17. Crossfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Cross comes back into the picture.

About two weeks had passed since the night of the party. After talking to his mom, things in Clint’s life had started to fall into place. On her afternoon off, she’d driven him around town to help him look for places that were hiring, and the sandwich shop had told him to come back the very next day for training. When asked, the workers who trained him were happy to make sure to face him while talking so he could read their lips, and that had made all the difference. He was kicking himself for not putting two and two together before, but not as much as his mother, who had immediately scheduled a doctor’s appointment.

Today was his first day of independent work behind the counter, and he was aiming to arrive early. After school, Clint gathered his things and hurried outside to get to his new job. The weather was cooling off, which meant that he was able to use his bike to get around more, making him less reliant on Barney’s schedule and generosity.

Nothing was allowed to go wrong, not anymore. He had opened communication with his mother, figured out that the root of all of his problems was his hearing, and sorted out his life. He missed Bobbi, but he wouldn't dwell on that. For all that Barney had been an absolute asshole, he’d been right that the point of their fresh start had been to get their lives on track, not to make friends or to find love. So if he occasionally had to tamp down the urge to call her and let her know about all the exciting things that were happening in his life, so be it.

He wondered for a few seconds what life would be like if he and Bobbi never started their scheme. He would’ve made friends, eventually, probably, although it likely would have been a completely different crowd. He and Bobbi would probably never have spoken two words to each other if not for the damn bet.

He locked his bike in the parking lot behind the store and went in, stashing his backpack in his locker before washing up.

His boss, Jackie, stuck his head in while Clint dried his hands. “How’s it going, Clint? Excited for the big leagues?”

“Looking forward to it,” Clint assured him. 

The first hour of his shift was pretty laid back; he’d learned during training not to expect much traffic until after 4. Clint was leaning against the back wall in the empty shop, his shift partner on break, when the door opened and Will Cross and his friends walked in. Clint stood up straight at the counter as they swaggered over and leaned against it like they owned the place.

Reminding himself that he didn’t want to get fired on his first day, he swallowed down the words he wanted to say and asked, “You guys want sandwiches?”

“Good one,” Cross said with a smirk.

“I could go for a Coke,” said Wendy.

Cross gave her an unamused look out of the corner of his eye, then turned back to Clint. “Nah, we just stopped by to check in. It’s been too long, you know?”

 _It really hasn’t_ , Clint thought.

“I never got a chance to congratulate you on a job well done,” Cross continued. “It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it might have been even better. I mean, in front of all those people? Did you _see_ her face?”

Cross snorted out loud, and the sound of his laughter was the last straw. Everything Clint had held back for weeks—the disgusting comments, the digs about Bobbi’s father, the name-calling, the predatory requests for PDA—the weight of keeping quiet in the face of all those indignities finally broke through his self-control and all his repressed fury came tumbling out.

“You’re an idiot,” Clint snapped. “You think you’ve won? You’re pathetic. It’s just sad, the way you’re all so threatened by her _existence_ that you paid me all that money just to try and take her down. It didn’t even _work_ —she’s out there living her best life while the four of you can barely show your faces at school— _and_ you’re down three hundred dollars.” He laughed deridingly. “Suckers.”

Cross’s face went bright red, and Clint could see his hand closing into a fist. Having had much more experience getting into fights than Cross likely did, Clint wasn’t worried for his safety, but a physical altercation would be a disaster for his job security. Luckily, the next customers walked in before anything could happen, and Cross backed off. He gave Clint a withering glare, then turned around and hightailed it, along with the rest of his crew, out of the shop.

His shift partner came out from the back and watched quietly as Clint took and prepared the orders. When the customers sat down to eat, she whispered to Clint, “I heard voices. Is everything okay?”

Clint exhaled, trying to will his pulse back to normal. “Yeah. It’s fine.” He nodded, trying to convince himself.

“It’s fine,” he repeated.

\--

Bobbi arrived at school early on Tuesday morning so that she could check on her biology project before class. She’d made a lot of progress over the past few weeks, and the more hands-on new territory she covered, the more enthusiastic she got. She headed towards the biology lab, fishing through her pockets for the key, making her way through the packed hallway.

Reaching the lab, Bobbi unlocked the door and walked in, automatically flipping the light on. What she found there made her freeze in shock.

The first thing she noticed was the broken glassware on the lab table. Half a beaker lay on its side, jagged edge facing up, surrounded by smaller pieces of glass. A box of blank slides had been spilled out onto the table, crystal violet poured all over them. As she got closer, she could see that her refrigerator, with the “Do not touch!” Post-It note on the door, was unplugged and open, her samples dumped out onto the shelves and soaked in something that smelled like sour milk. Everything was completely ruined.

How could this have happened? The door had been locked. Bobbi glanced at the open window, which large enough for someone skinny to slip through. The mystery vandal must have come in that way. But who would vandalize a high school science lab?

She heard footsteps, and then Clint’s voice said, “I saw the light on and I guessed—”

His voice stopped abruptly, and Bobbi turned to find him boggling at the mess, his mouth open. “What the hell?”

“I just found it like this,” Bobbi said. It struck her immediately as a silly thing to have said—obviously, he wasn’t accusing her of trashing her own lab. Of having sabotaged all of her work...the experiments that she was so proud of, that she’d been so looking forward to progressing with...

She realized that she was crying. “All my work!” she exclaimed.

“This is all my fault,” Clint said in horror. “I goaded them. They came to gloat yesterday and I...oh my God, this is all my fault.”

Bobbi stared at him as it clicked. She’d been too taken aback by the damage to think about the why of it all, but of course, he was right—this was personal, an attack on _her_ project, and no one else hated her enough to do something like this.

“No,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s not your fault.”

Filled with purpose, she pivoted and left the lab. Clint followed her without saying anything. As she marched through the hallways, faces turned towards her, students staring at her tear-streaked face and determined gait, until she finally reached to Will Cross’s locker, where he was standing with his back to her, saying something to his dumb friends.

Bobbi tapped Will on the shoulder. He turned around to see who it was and caught her fist in his face.

Will fell back against the lockers and spit blood at her. “You _bitch_!”

“Say that again like it’s an insult!” Bobbi shouted. Her blood was boiling; she could actually feel herself shaking. “That was school property you destroyed, not to mention scientific research!”

“Oh, get over yourself, Morse,” Wendy Conrad said from next to Will. “It’s a glorified science fair project. I’ve never met anyone more—”

“Go to _hell_ , Conrad—” Bobbi interrupted.

“—think you’re better than everyone else—” Wendy continued, shoving Bobbi at the wall.

Clint grabbed Wendy’s arm. “Don’t touch her!”

This set off a chain reaction: Elton started beating on Clint, so Bobbi pulled Elton off and threw him across the hallway. That prompted Dean to grab Bobbi’s arm, only to have her elbow him in the gut with it. Wendy slapped Bobbi across the face, which _actually_ hurt, but Clint pulled Wendy’s hair, making her scream. Just then, several teachers appeared and tried to pull them away from each other—but the six students involved in the fracas kept shouting and cursing, until finally, a voice shouted, “Everyone, _stop this right now_!”

Everyone froze and turned to look at Principal Carter.

“Now I want someone to tell me right this moment what’s going on,” Dr. Carter said.

“They vandalized the biology lab,” Bobbi said, pointing. “Including my project.”

“She made that up,” Will retorted. “She just came up and attacked me—they all saw it!” He indicated the group of students standing around, watching the events unfold. “You all saw it!” he repeated.

“Get Wilma, tell her to her check on the lab and meet me in my office,” Dr. Carter said to one of the teachers who’d tried to break up the fight. She turned to Bobbi. “Ms. Morse, did you see these four classmates of yours in the biology lab?”

Bobbi glared at the four of them in turn, but she had to admit that she hadn’t witnessed it. “No...They targeted _me_ , though,” she added. “I know who’s got it in for me enough to do _that_.”

Dr. Carter sighed and put a hand to her forehead.

“They admitted to it,” said a small but clear voice, someone in the crowd that had gathered to watch the show. It was Max Coleridge, a guy in their grade whom Bobbi didn’t know except for by name. “I was getting my books. That’s my locker right there.” He pointed. “I saw the whole thing.”

“He’s lying!” Wendy insisted.

“You said, ‘It was a glorified science fair project,’” Max quoted.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Elton shot back. To Bobbi, he added, “You can’t prove anything.”

“Okay, that’s _enough_ ,” Dr. Carter said. She marched the six of them down to her office and sat down behind her desk, the students standing against the wall like in a police lineup. Without saying anything, she typed something into the computer, then looked up at the rest of them and said, “We’re waiting for Dr. Calvin to join us.”

Nobody spoke while they waited. Bobbi sent a nervous glance with Clint, who gave her a reassuring smile. It helped a little, but the silence in the office was giving her plenty of time to think about the fact that she didn’t actually have much evidence beyond her ruined experiments and a known grudge.

Dr. Calvin entered a few minutes later. She gave Bobbi a sympathetic look as she walked in, then turned to Dr. Carter to report the damage. “It’s a mess,” she said, sighing. “I counted two smashed beakers and an Erlenmeyer flask. And Bobbi’s work, of course.”

“Hmmm,” Dr. Carter said, tapping her fingers against the desk. “So _somebody_ vandalized school property and a student’s project. Ms. Morse, when did you find out what happened?”

“This morning,” Bobbi said. She recounted the story of how she’d come in early to take measurements and what she’d found when she’d arrived.

“These guys were talking sh—talking disrespectfully about Bobbi yesterday,” Clint jumped in. “And when I told them to stop it, they got angry.”

“So what?” Dean challenged. “Last I checked, we still have the First Amendment.”

“Children,” Dr. Carter interrupted sternly. She turned to Bobbi. “And then what did you do, when you saw the state of the lab?”

Bobbi lowered her eyes. “I...confronted Cross.”

Dr. Carter nodded. “I see. Who threw the first punch?”

Cross and his friends whipped their heads towards Bobbi so fast it was almost comical.

“It was me,” Bobbi admitted. “Clint didn’t get involved until Wendy hit me—he shouldn’t be here.”

Clint looked irked. “Don’t be stupid,” he whispered to her.

“ _You_ don’t be stupid,” she muttered back behind gritted teeth.

Speaking to the adults in the room, Clint said, “It doesn’t matter who threw the first punch, because they broke all that—”

“That’s a baseless accusation and you know it,” Elton interrupted. He pointed at Bobbi. “She could have easily done it for attention. Or she just knocked everything over herself, and she’s trying to pin it on us because—”

“Because why?” Bobbi snapped. “What reason would I have to want to pin anything on _you_ , hmmm? What could you have _possibly_ done to me that would make me want you to get in trouble?”

For a few seconds, they all glared at each other in silence, and then the door flew open and Greer and Jen burst in.

“It’s a first-time offense!” Jen shouted, a little out of breath. “And she was _clearly_ provoked; there’s no reason to believe that Bobbi is a danger to—”

“Plus, they deserved it,” Greer cut in, earning a glare from Jen.

“Please disregard that last statement,” Jen said firmly. “Bobbi, don’t say another word.”

“I didn’t—” Bobbi started to say.

Jen cleared her throat loudly, and Bobbi stopped.

Dr. Carter looked at Jen in astonishment. “Ms. Walters, Ms. Grant. What on Earth are you doing in my office?”

“We're her defense team,” Jen said cheerfully. She sat down in the empty seat across from Dr. Carter. “Now, let’s get to it. What exactly is Bobbi being charged with?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max Coleridge, a.k.a. the Shroud, appears as an ally in a few issues of West Coast Avengers and Solo Avengers.


	18. Breaking Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some firsts for our heroine.

“I don’t know what to say,” Bobbi’s mother admitted.

They were sitting across from each other at the dining room table, Dr. Morse just having gotten home from work. Ben had made himself scarce, which meant that there was no escaping this conversation.

Bobbi stared at her hands. She’d never gotten in this kind of trouble before, and the silence was killing her. Yelling would be preferable to this.

“I mean, I literally don’t know what to say,” her mother continued. “Your project was destroyed? You got into a fight? I honestly don’t know whether I’m supposed to be upset with you or not.”

“Well, I did get suspended.”

“Right. Right. Okay.” Her mother’s expression grew facetiously stern. In a voice like she was lecturing a kindergartener, she said, “Bobbi, hitting is wrong. Even when we’re upset—”

“Okay, Mom,” Bobbi interrupted, amused.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” her mother admitted with a shrug. “I mean, you used your judgment. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. Um...so try not to get expelled?”

“Right.” Bobbi nodded. “Good talk, Mom.”

With that conversation over, she went to her room and called Clint, using video chat since she’d been filled in on the conversation between him and Tony. Finding out that Clint had been lip-reading all this time and even _he_ hadn’t realized had blown her mind, making her wonder if everyone had strange things in their life that they’d just assumed were normal.

He answered quickly, his face filling the screen. “Bobbi?”

“Hey.” She set her phone on her desk, resting it against a stack of books so that it would stay up. “Is this way okay for talking or should we switch to text?”

“This works,” he said. “So, how’d your mom take the news?”

“Pretty well, actually. I mean, I think. She was pretty confused.”

“She should be proud, after the way you decked Cross.” Clint grinned. “What a sight.”

“Thank you,” Bobbi said. That was a memory she would treasure forever, no doubt. “So, what did I miss after they sent me home?”

“Dr. Calvin's classroom was closed the whole day,” Clint reported. “And the police came by.”

Bobbi raised her eyebrows. “You think they’ll find evidence it was them?”

“I don’t know, but I heard they’re having a hearing with Dr. Carter next week,” he answered. “Did Dr. Calvin say anything to you when she walked you out?”

D. Calvin had said a lot, actually. As a teacher, she’d said, it was her responsibility to make sure Bobbi understood that there was no excuse for violence...and yet she’d also said that walking into that classroom and finding it trashed had brought back familiar memories. _It wasn't easy to be a Black woman in the sciences when I was in graduate school. Reacting like you did wasn't an option for me—I would have gotten much worse than a two-day suspension. But sometimes I wish..._

She hadn’t finished that sentence; just shaken her head and repeated, _As a teacher, I can’t approve of what you did._ But the twinkle in her eyes had given an unspoken implication that the non-teacher parts of her did approve.

Bobbi related the story to Clint. “So anyway, now I hate them twice as much, because not only did they ruin my project, but they also caused my favorite teacher to get trauma flashbacks.”

“I’m so sorry, Bobbi,” he said. “I never should have spoken to them that way.”

It was the second time he’d said something like that, indicating that it was his fault, and it bothered her. Why was he feeling guilty? He should have been _angry_. She frowned. “Clint...you don’t think I blame you, do you?”

“No,” he admitted, knitting his eyebrows together, “but...I should have known better.”

“What does that mean? Why should you have known better?”

“If I hadn’t goaded them, it wouldn’t have happened.”

She shook her head, dumbfounded. “Maybe, but so what? If there had been rain last night, they wouldn’t have gone out, and it wouldn’t have happened. Am I supposed to be mad at the weather?”

He narrowed his eyes and spoke in an annoyed tone. “Bobbi, stop. That’s different and you know it.”

Sure, it was an imperfect analogy, but the point still stood, she thought. Still, she didn’t want to distress him, and there was clearly some factor at play that she didn’t understand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to...invalidate your feelings. I just don’t want you to beat yourself up over this when you’re obviously not the bad guy here.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a weak smile. “Hey, do you need anything? Homework or notes or something?”

“Hank’s taking care of it.”

“That’s good.”

There was an extended pause where Bobbi wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what. Eventually, she settled on, “So, I guess I’ll see you Thursday, then?”

“Thursday.” He nodded. “Right. See you then.”

\--

Bobbi had hung out in Tony’s basement with Hank and Greer plenty of times; that part wasn’t new. What she’d never done was hang out in Tony’s basement with Hank and Greer _and_ Jan and Jen while Jen prepared a bowl of weed. Clearly, her life was changing.

Jen was lying on her front, cutting the plant up on a paper plate, and packing the pieces into the bowl—which Bobbi, curious but trying not to be too overtly nosy, had always imagined as a mortar-and-pestle type of thing and was surprised to find out actually referred to the bowl of a pipe.

“Won’t your parents be able to smell it?” Greer asked Tony.

“Nah. I’ll open up the windows and run a fan. They won’t be home for hours, and they never come down here, anyway. Not that they’d care, really.”

Jen looked around. “Where’s the lighter?”

Jan stuck her hand underneath the couch and wriggled it around. “Got it!” She sat up and handed it over.

“Thanks,” Jen said. “Enjoy it, guys. This is the last of my stash.”

“Wait a second,” Jan said, a suspicious look on her face. “Did you get this from Barney Barton?”

Jen pressed her lips together, a silent admission of guilt.

“Jennifer Susan Walters! How could you?”

“I bought it before he did what he did!”

“Ughhhhh.” Jan rolled her eyes. “You should have burned it.”

Jen flicked the lighter on and off. “We’re literally burning it right now.”

“Whatever.” Jan shook her head, but she was smiling.

Jen brought the pipe to her lips and lit the corner of the bowl, holding it for a few seconds before handing it to Jan. “It really is good, though,” she said, smoke puffing out of her mouth. “Couldn’t we just...separate the art from the artist?”

“ _No_ ,” Jan said firmly, though she took her turn, then passed the bowl to Greer. “That guy purposely humiliated Bobbi in public. And worse, he ruined my party.”

“Guys, it’s okay,” Bobbi cut in. “I don’t mind if you buy from him.” In fact, knowing about the Bartons’ money troubles, it was probably good that they had. “I’ve got a lot bigger fish to fry than Barney Barton.”

“You mean your project?” Tony asked. “Do you have to scrap the whole thing?”

Bobbi shook her head. “It’s not as bad as I thought. All of my data is still on my laptop—and now backed up in the cloud, which honestly I should have done from the start—so I was really only set back a few weeks. And Dr. Calvin said that if I go into the summer a few extra weeks, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, but who wants to spend their summer vacation doing _science_?” Jan said, making a face.

Bobbi, Hank, and Tony all raised their hands at the same time.

“Right,” Jan said, sitting back. “Wrong crowd.”

Greer laughed. “If it helps, you’re not alone. It just seems like it sometimes around these three.”

Bobbi was next in the circle, but she’d never smoked before. Greer lit it for her and showed her how to hold the pipe while inhaling. The smoke felt funny in her mouth.

“Okay,” she said after exhaling. “Am I supposed to feel different?”

“Take another hit,” Tony suggested. “But don’t worry about it; sometimes people don’t get high their first time.”

Bobbi did, then passed it to Hank, who was on her left.

“Hey,” Jen said to Hank, “does weed help with SPD?”

He answered a few seconds later, after exhaling. “Some strains do. It’s the CBD oil. My mom looked into getting me a medical marijuana license a few years ago, but it turns out you don't even need it to buy just the oil. It’s not covered by insurance, though, so...” He shrugged.

“Oh, that sucks.” Jen’s expression grew thoughtful. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you, like, _super_ rich these days?”

“Yeah, Hank,” Jan agreed. “My dad could probably buy you all the CBD oil in the entire state, and it wouldn’t make a dent in my inheritance.” She paused. “How much does CBD oil cost, anyway?”

Hank passed the bowl to Tony. “It doesn’t matter; I’m fine without it,” he said.

“But you’re family,” Jan insisted. “You’ve gotta stop acting like you lost your old life and didn’t get anything new in return. Take advantage of being a Van Dyne, man!”

Hank looked at her without saying anything, but after a few seconds, the corners of his mouth quirked up.

“ _There_ we go!” Jen cheered. She took the bowl from Tony and held out her hand for the lighter. Looking back at Hank, she added, “We’ll make a Van Dyne out of you yet, kid.”

Bobbi started giggling at that. She must be high, she decided, because she didn’t think what Jen had said technically qualified as a joke, and yet she found it hilarious. Her senses felt different, too—the laughter around her sounded louder than it should, and her vision was sharper than usual. She’d never realized that marijuana could give her super senses. Was there a comic book superhero who had enhanced senses from taking drugs?

Tony stood up. “I’m gonna get the nachos,” he said. “Nobody move an inch.”

It was quiet when he left, and Bobbi relaxed, looking at the fibers of the carpet. They weren’t just solid cream, she realized—the carpet was actually multicolored, made up of shades of eggshell, tan, ivory, and vanilla. Not that she knew which was which. She let out a snort at the thought.

“I’m hungry,” Greer said suddenly. “We should get something to eat.”

Jen burst out laughing.

“What?” Greer said. A second later, it dawned on her. “Ohhhh.” She turned to Bobbi. “Hey, what are you thinking for your birthday?”

Jan perked up. “Oh! When’s your birthday?”

“In two weeks,” Bobbi answered. To Greer, she said, “I haven’t started thinking about it yet.” Maybe she’d get dinner at a nice place in the city with her mom and Ben and get dinner at a nice steakhouse.

Mmmm, steak.

“Can I throw you a party?” Jan asked. “To make up for the last one.” Bobbi quickly opened her mouth to protest her assignment of blame, but Jan hastily added, “Kidding; I’m kidding.”

Tony came down with the nachos then, setting them carefully in the middle of the circle. “Okay, here we go. I promise you, you have never had better nachos than these, high or dry.”

“What kind of party?” Bobbi asked Jan. As nice as the first few minutes of the last party had been, she would rather not celebrate her birthday with hundreds of strangers, or the possibility of Will Cross and his friends showing up.

“Whatever you want,” Jan said. “It doesn’t have to be a ‘Van Dyne’ party—I can plan small parties just as easily as big ones! Present company, a few other friends?”

She tried to imagine a lower-key, more intimate version of the party she’d been to a few weeks ago. “That...sounds really nice, actually.”

“And it could be completely Hank-friendly, if you don’t mind helping me plan it?” Jan added, looking at Hank.

Hank looked surprised at the offer, but he smiled. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

“At my house,” Bobbi interjected. “Your place is beautiful, but I have to be honest, it’s a little intimidating.”

Jan nodded, unfazed. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”


	19. One Word, Three Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things gear up in preparation for Bobbi’s party.

Bobbi was waiting by Clint’s locker Monday morning before class. She held two notebooks under her arm, and her hair was down, pulled to the side over one shoulder. He felt a pang of wistfulness seeing her there, and the fact that she’d sought him out made him simultaneously thrilled and nervous. Her face didn’t give anything away as he walked up to the locker, looking at her while he undid the combination lock. “What’s up?”

“Hey.”

“Morning.” He got the locker open and hung up his backpack on the back hook.

Bobbi turned, facing him while leaning against the next locker. “I wanted to...um. I’m having a birthday party at my house this Friday night, and...you should come.”

His heart skipped a beat. A picture popped into his head of the last party they’d gone to together, at the beginning, before the disaster. Dim lights, music to speed up their pulses, that dress she’d worn—the only time he’d ever seen her in a dress—with her shoulders on display and her knees peeking out from the bottom. God, he’d had all sorts of inappropriate thoughts about those knees in the weeks since.

“Clint?”

 _Get a grip, perv_. It was just a party. Totally normal for her to invite him. Especially now that they were publicly friends again, after having had each other’s backs in the fight the other week. “Yeah, I—right. Um. Are you sure it would be okay?”

“It’s my birthday. Only friends will be there. It’ll be fine. After last week, it’s totally believable that we’d be on good terms again.”

“Okay, you’re right.” He turned back to the locker and grabbed the books he needed for first and second periods from the top shelf. “Everyone who’s going knows the truth, or...?”

“Not everyone. But I figure we can just act as if we’ve moved past it. I mean, like we keep saying, it’s nobody’s business but ours, right?”

“Right.”

“So you’ll be there?”

Oh, what the hell. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

\--

After walking away, Bobbi caught a glimpse of Greer down the hallway. Bursting to talk, she walked quickly to catch up, then grabbed Greer’s arm and dragged her into the nearest restroom. The stalls were all empty, and she directed a quick note of thanks in the universe’s direction.

“Are you about to beat me up and take my lunch money?” Greer asked. “Because I’m warning you, I won’t go down without a fight.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bobbi said, too keyed up for banter. “Listen. Clint agreed to come to my birthday party!”

“That’s great.” Greer paused. “Did you think there was a chance he would say no?”

“Well, he might have!”

“Yeah, okay,” Greer said skeptically.

“Whatever, I’m not here to argue about that.” She took a deep breath, then admitted, “I think I’m going to tell Clint I like him then.”

“Good!” Greer said with a satisfied smile. “It’s about time.”

“You think so?”

“I think you never should have stopped dating just because that half-truth got out. Why ruin a good thing over rumors you know are false?”

“Well, we were never _really_ dating to begin with...”

“Even better,” Greer countered. “You could have just continued doing what you were doing, this time with no ulterior motives.”

Maybe she was right. But it was too late to change what had been done. “Well, I’m hoping he feels the same way...or at least that he’s willing to give me a _real_ chance.”

“That’s my girl.” Greer put a hand on Bobbi’s shoulder and mimed wiping away a tear. “I’m so proud of you right now.”

“Okay, okay.” Bobbi shrugged her hand away, suddenly feeling doubts. This was a big step for her—and what if he said no? After all, he’d told her he wanted a break from relationships only a few weeks ago. What if he was committed to that? Or what if he was just plain uninterested?

Greer kept it up, faking a sniffle. “They grow up so fast.”

“Yeah, your face is going to grow up so fast,” Bobbi muttered.

“You’re going to wear my tiger shoes this time, right?”

Bobbi gave her a look.

“What? You didn’t wear them last time, and look what happened!”

She couldn’t be offended, knowing that Greer wanted the best for her. And...maybe the tiger shoes would give her some extra confidence. “You’ll help me find a dress to match?” she asked.

Greer’s face lit up. “I’ll find you the best dress _ever_ to match.”

 

\--

Thursday was laundry day. Barney picked Clint up at the end of his shift and they headed over to the laundromat. After starting the load, they went out to the parking lot, sat on the trunk of Barney’s car, and unwrapped the sandwiches Clint had prepared for them.

“It’s good,” Barney said, his mouth full of food. At least, Clint thought that was what he said—it was hard to understand him like that.

“Yup.”

They ate quietly on top of the car. It was dark by then, but a street lamp shone directly onto them, which meant that Clint had no problem reading Barney’s lips.

“How’s the GED stuff going?” Clint asked.

“S’fine,” Barney responded. “I found an online course—we’ll see if it’s any good.”

Clint sometimes felt guilty that, as the younger brother, he’d gotten the better deal. Barney had been in high school during their parents’ accident, and between foster care and moving out of state, he hadn’t had a chance to finish school. Money had been so tight that Barney had started working as soon as things had settled down, and he’d never gone back to school. In contrast, Clint was spending his senior year in one of the best traditional public schools in the state.

Still, if Barney felt any resentment, he never showed it, which was one of the reasons that Clint stayed loyal to him, despite their rocky relationship.

“Got your hearing-aid fitting tomorrow?” Barney asked.

Clint nodded.

“Think it’ll change your life?”

“Who knows?” Clint said. “Hope it changes my grades, at least.” As far as the rest of his life went, he really couldn’t complain.

Barney checked his watch, then made a signal with his hand indicating that the time was up on the washing machine. Then he added, “Hey, do you think we do this because of your hearing, and we just never realized?”

They probably did, Clint realized. “Yeah, I guess we do.” Just another of those things he’d thought was universal.

They went back inside the laundromat, and Clint found a free laundry cart. He brought it over to their washing machine and squatted down to start taking the clothing out of the machine.

“Hey, you working Saturday night?” Barney asked as Clint filled the cart.

“Nope. Got plans.”

“Oh? Finally made some real friends at that school of yours?”

Clint grunted noncommittally, suddenly realizing that it was probably a mistake to give Barney more information than what he’d asked for.

Unfortunately, that non-answer was probably what tipped his hand. “Where are you going?” Barney asked, his tone suspicious.

The machine was empty, so Clint stood up and started to wheel the cart over to the dryers. “Who are you, Mom?”

Barney didn’t say anything right away. When Clint turned around, Barney’s arms were crossed, and he was frowning. “Why are you acting so sneaky?”

“It’s just a birthday party for a friend.”

“A friend?” Barney repeated.

Clint sighed. “Bobbi.”

There was silence for a minute. Clint opened an empty dryer, and Barney walked up from behind and started to load the laundry into the machine, shaking his head the whole time. “Dumb,” he finally said.

“Goddamnit, Barney.”

“Listen to yourself. You’re going to go to this party, you’re going to be lovesick over this girl, you’re going to be right back where you started.”

“What does that mean, where I started?”

“I mean that the past few weeks have actually been good for you. You got a job, you’re doing better in school, you went to that doctor...instead of moping around like a lovesick puppy. And if you get reeled back into her life, you’re going to lose that momentum.”

“Says who?”

“Please,” Barney scoffed. “I saw what happened last time your heart got broken. You were a complete mess.”

Clint had no argument to respond to that. It was true—he _was_ prone to falling apart when he got his heart broken. When Sheila had admitted that she’d only dated him to make her ex jealous—and that it had worked, and that she was leaving him—he’d stayed home for two days straight, only getting out of bed because his mother had taken all of his bedsheets while he was in the bathroom and thrown them outside. Since outside was in full view of the rest of the park, including two of his other exes, he’d been mortified.

“I hate seeing you like that, you know? You’re my little brother. I’m just worried for you, is all.” Barney put a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, I have an idea. Go to the party, but bring a date.”

“What?”

“You and Bobbi said that you would be friends, right? And if that’s really true, then, as a friend, you should be allowed to bring a date to another friend’s party. Plus, you would have someone to distract you from obsessing over her. Gayle thinks you’re cute; ask her.”

Gayle was part of the group of friends Barney had made through his legitimate job. She was a blogger, and her writings were intelligent and entertaining, which made Clint wonder why she tolerated his brother.

Clint exhaled in exasperation. “Barney, come on. Is that really necessary?”

“You told me you hadn’t fallen for this girl, Clint. Well, here’s your chance to prove it.”

\--

The last regular-season football game of the year was the day before her party, and the stands were packed by the time Bobbi arrived. Fortunately, Tony and Jan were saving seats for their group, which, strange as it seemed, now included Bobbi, Greer, and Hank. The three of them sat down in front of Tony and Jan and next to Jan’s friends Wanda and Simon.

The game was livelier than any of the others had been, the announcer egging the crowd on with louder and louder cheers. Apparently, the team had already clinched a playoff spot, but this game was crucial in determining which spot it would be.

She didn’t see Clint, which made her feel strangely guilty. It was her fault, in a way, that he hadn’t had a chance yet to make real friends at school. And with things still weird between them, there wasn’t really anyone else he could sit with at the game. Still, the year wasn’t even halfway over, and if everything went well at her party, that would change before the playoffs started.

With under a minute to go, the home team was up by five points, but the other team had the ball, and they were clearly determined to make a comeback. One of the opposing running backs nearly made it to the end zone before being tackled by Ben Grimm.

The other team hiked the ball to their quarterback, and the defense moved in on him to prevent a clear shot. For the last ten seconds of the game, the entire crowd was on their feet, shouting, showing more spirit in half a minute than they had the entire rest of the season. The enthusiasm was infectious, and even though Bobbi wasn’t that interested in sports, she found herself cheering along with everyone else.

The buzzer went off, clinching the win, and the crowd exploded with cheers and confetti. Breathless, exhilarated, she looked around, counting her old and new friends all around her. There was only one person missing. 

But that would change soon; she was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gayle Rogers was a reporter who appeared occasionally in Solo Avengers and Thunderbolts.


	20. They Say It's Your Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of Bobbi's party arrives.

Janet came over early the day of the party to help prepare, holding a stuffed bag in each arm. Inside the house, she looked around the living room thoughtfully, then clapped her hands.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ve got it. Help me with this.”

Jan reached into one of her bags and pulled out a spool of fairy lights, which Bobbi helped her string up around the room. Afterward, they brought up the folding table and chairs from the basement and arranged them according to Jan’s instructions. Somehow, Jan even managed to rope Ben into helping set up the table, and then she and Bobbi went to Bobbi’s room.

“Can I see your dress?” Jan asked.

The dress was laid out on the bed; Bobbi picked it up to show it to her. It was a T-shirt dress, completely black, with a wide neck that just skimmed her shoulders. The only splash of color was a sand-colored braided belt—and the tiger shoes, of course. As promised, Greer had shopped with her and helped her pick the dress out, making sure Bobbi chose a dress that matched the shoes.

“Very nice,” Jan said. “Are you ready for makeup?”

Greer had a great sense of fashion, but nobody could top Janet when it came to putting together a personal look, which was why Bobbi had asked her privately for makeup assistance. Jan had agreed readily, and she was now holding a makeup bag as big as Bobbi’s school backpack.

Jan sat Bobbi down at her desk. Bobbi took her glasses off while Jan unpacked, covering the desk in pots, tubes, and brushes.

“I know you’re not used to wearing makeup, and I don’t want to do anything you’d be uncomfortable with,” Jan said. “Unless you _want_ bright colors?”

“No, I just want to look...you know...dressed up,” Bobbi said. She felt like an idiot, or a child trying on her mother’s dresses. Thank God Jan had agreed to help her with this, or she would have shown up with twin green shiners and clown lipstick.

“That’s what I thought. So I’m going to give you a natural look. It’ll take just as long to put together as ‘evening face,’ except that you’ll look almost exactly the same when I’m done as you did when I started.” Jan chuckled at her own joke. “Basically, you’ll look like yourself, but with your eyes and lips kind of highlighted. And if anything is uncomfortable, we can wipe it clean, start again, or you can go without makeup. The whole point of getting dolled up is to give you a confidence boost, but if it makes you feel weird, it’s not worth it.”

It felt a little strange having someone else do her makeup—Jan was right up in front of her, fingers so close to Bobbi’s eyes that Bobbi felt herself blinking every time Janet moved. She held herself completely still while Jan swept brushes over her eyelids and wiped sponges with cream on her cheeks, and fought every instinct to squeeze her eyes shut when Jan came at them with the pencil. Without her glasses, everything was kind of a blur, but fortunately, Jan was patient enough to explain everything right before she did it.

“Okay,” Jan said, handing her a mirror. “Take a look.”

Bobbi replaced her glasses and checked herself out in the mirror. Jan was wrong—she didn’t look exactly the same as before. She was hot. Whatever combination of lipsticks Jan had used on her made her lips look pinker than usual and wet in a way that made her want to touch them. Her eyes...yes, highlighted was the right word, she could see that. She looked up at Jan. “Is it wrong that I’m attracted to her?” Bobbi asked, pointing at her own reflection.

Jan laughed. “If it is, I don’t want to be right.”

“You’re really talented,” Bobbi said, still staring at herself in the mirror.

“Thank you.” Jan picked up a flat brush and a spray bottle. “Ready for hair?”

“Yeah.”

Jan started working on Bobbi’s hair, switching off between the airbrush and whatever cucumber-scented liquid was in the bottle. “I want to make it clear that you’re perfectly attractive without makeup,” she said. “I love makeup, but it’s for fun, not necessity.” She set the spray bottle down on the desk and walked around to stand in front of Bobbi and play with her hair, talking all the while. “What I really like about makeup—and fashion—is the ability to try new things,” she said. “I like looking in the mirror and doing a double-take, thinking for a second, ‘Who is that? She looks great. Is that me?’ I know people think that’s shallow, but those few seconds can give you a dopamine boost and increase your creativity and productivity in all areas.” Bobbi’s surprise must have shown on her face, because Jan added, “I’m not actually incompetent when it comes to science. _You_ know who my dad is.”

“Yeah, of course,” Bobbi said. “I just...never thought about it that way before.”

“Hmmm.” Jan moved behind her again and used the brush to smooth the sides of Bobbi’s hair as she collected it all into a high ponytail. She took a curling iron off the desk and plugged it into the wall, holding it in the air as she waited for it to heat up. “Hey, do you remember, when we were little...?” Her voice trailed off.

“Our dads?” Bobbi prompted.

“ _Yes_ , thank you, God,” Jan said in a relieved voice. “I wasn’t sure if I just imagined it or what. They _were_ friends, right? They used to always bring us over to each other’s houses—back when I still lived in something that could be referred to as merely a ‘house’—and talk about stuff we didn’t understand?”

Jan held her hand next to the curling iron to test whether it was hot enough to use. Apparently, she decided it was ready, and she started to separate sections of Bobbi’s to wrap around the wand.

“I don’t think we understood most grown-up conversations at that age,” Bobbi pointed out.

“Yeah, but considering their careers...what do you think they talked about?”

“Well, you’d probably be more able to find that out than me.”

“Sorry,” Jan said quickly.

“No, it’s fine.” Bobbi paused. “You know, my mom always thought your dad knew something about my dad’s disappearance.”

In the mirror, Jan did a double take. “Really?”

Bobbi shrugged. “She never told me what, though.”

“I wonder if I could get an answer out of him,” Jan said thoughtfully.

“Let me know if you do.”

“I will.” Jan fluffed the ends of Bobbi’s hair. “Okay, you’re done.” She unplugged the wand, and Bobbi looked at herself in the mirror, checking herself out at various angles. She looked...mature. The ponytail was casual, but with every strand of hair in place...kind of like the Hollywood movie version of a soccer star. Yep, she could definitely pull off center forward.

“I love it,” Bobbi said. “Thank you.”

Jan smiled and put a hand on her back, looking over her shoulder into the mirror. “You look terrific,” she said. Her smile dropped, and she added, “Are you sure about this? Clint, I mean. Because if you have some sort of notion that he’s the best you can do...”

Bobbi remembered the look on Clint’s face the first day she met him, the nervousness as he approached her with his story, the way he’d laid out everything and let her make the decision. She smiled, her heart swelling. “It’s not like that.”

“Okay.” Jan’s tone of voice was even, like she was trying not to be judgmental, and she didn’t look Bobbi in the eye.

They were both quiet for the next few minutes while Jan put away the curling iron, and then Jan added, “I mean, I know it’s your life, but in my opinion, if a guy hurts you and lies to you...he’s shown you who he is. He doesn’t need another chance.” She sat back on her stool and rested her chin on her fingers, examining Bobbi’s face.

Bobbi blinked and looked at her, thinking about the way Jan had stood up for her at the party, publicly taking her side in a fight she’d had no stake in. She came to a conclusion.

“That’s the thing,” Bobbi said. “He didn’t.”

\--

The party got off to a great start. Jen had brought the food over with enough time to set it out, and the guests started to arrive at eight. Telling Jan the truth, and giving her permission to spread the story, had lifted a huge load off of Bobbi’s shoulders, and she felt ready to take on the evening.

The soft music that Jan had chosen—with Hank’s approval—made it easy for the conversations to flow, and Bobbi was delighted to see people from different social groups mixing. Hank and Greer stood near the staircase, talking to Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. As Bobbi approached, she noticed that Steve had his arm around Sam’s shoulder, and Sam was leaning against him.

“Oh my God, you guys,” Jan said, sounding like she was trying very hard not to squeal loudly. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

Sam grinned. “I spoke to my dad. And it was...” He trailed off, but he looked at Steve, and the two of them smiled at each other.

“We’ll make it more public at school next week,” Steve added, speaking to the rest of them.

“Wow, and your first public appearance is at my birthday party,” Bobbi said. “Don’t think I won’t be telling this story to ESPN one day.” As she spoke, she looked around the room to see if Clint was there yet, but she didn’t see him.

Well, it was still early.

The next guest to show up was a surprise. “Rhodey!” Bobbi greeted him with a hug. “I had no idea you were coming.”

“Tony invited me,” Rhodey said. “Happy birthday. This place looks great.”

“It was all Jan,” Bobbi admitted. “She’s a genius.”

“Isn’t she, though?” he agreed. “I should go pay my compliments.”

He headed toward Jan, and Bobbi realized that as happy as she was to see him, the pitter-patters she’d used to feel around him were gone. He was an old friend, which was enough.

Greer walked by on her way to the drinks table, and Bobbi caught up with her. “Have you seen Clint?” she asked.

Greer shook her head. “Not yet. He’ll be here soon, I’m sure.”

At the drinks table, Greer poured punch for both of them. “To birthdays,” Bobbi said, holding out her cup.

Greer tapped Bobbi’s cup with her own. “To beginnings.”

Afterward, she mingled some more, eventually heading over to where Ben was hanging out with Cindy and another of his friends.

“How’s my social life now?” Bobbi teased.

Ben made a so-so motion with his hand, but he was smiling. “I guess you managed to fool a few people into thinking you weren't a total nerd.”

“No, they know I am.”

“Ha.” He looked around the room, and she looked with him, marveling over the number of people who’d come out to celebrate with her. “Happy birthday, sis.”

“Thanks, Benny.”

She walked around some more, flitting between groups, wondering where he could be. Finally, she decided she needed a few minutes alone to get ahold of herself, and she snuck away to her bedroom for a breather. She opened the bedroom door and was surprised to see Clint sitting on her bed. He looked up at her when the door opened and stood.

“Oh!” Bobbi said in surprise. She glanced behind her, wondering how he’d gotten up the stairs without anyone noticing. “I’ve...I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, I wanted to—hey!” She noticed something. “You got hearing aids!”

“Yeah.” He put a hand to one of his ears self-consciously. “They came in yesterday. I’m still getting used to them; it’s kind of weird.”

“That’s so great!”

His cheeks went pink, and he brought his hand back down.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked. “I’ve been looking for you all over.”

“Hiding? I guess?” He took a deep breath. “I almost didn’t come tonight.”

The bottom of her stomach dropped out, and she thought back to the disaster at the last party. “Why not?”

“Well,” he started, “I kept thinking about the fake dating and how we agreed to be friends. And then Barney...well, Barney still thinks you’re bad news. He thinks...well, it doesn’t matter what he thinks, but the point is, he tried to discourage me from coming, and when that didn’t work, he said that I should show up at the party with another girl, in order to prove that I hadn’t fallen for you for real.” He swallowed. “But I haven’t played games with you yet and I don’t want to start now.”

_Oh_.

He continued speaking, while she stood, rooted in place. “The thing is, I can’t prove that I haven’t fallen for you. See, I know that love doesn’t have a single, commonly-accepted definition...but you need to define your terms, right?” He let a small grin slip onto his face. “So let’s say that we define it as...um...appreciating someone for who they are. Wanting the best for them. And...strong feelings of affection.”

_Pinch yourself_ , a voice in her head whispered.

“And, okay: appreciation.” He looked at her so warmly that she wanted to cry. “You’re the smartest person I know, and you’re a good friend, and you’re persistent and determined and loyal. And fun.” He nodded, more to himself than to her. “Wanting what’s best for you—I think—I _hope_ my actions speak for themselves.” She gave a single nod, and he continued. “So...last: affection. I love spending time with you, even if we’re not doing anything at all. And when you’re happy and your eyes light up, it makes my heart skip a beat. And having you in my life makes me a better person, makes my world a better place.” He twisted his hands together, then continued, “And the idea of doing something that had even the smallest chance of hurting you is just...unthinkable.” He paused again, and she could see the lines of his throat shift as he swallowed. “So, therefore, we can conclude that...that I love you.”

There was a beat as she took it all in, and then—

“Oh, my God,” she said. “Come here.” He gave her a sheepish grin and took a step forward; she pulled him towards her, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck and looking into his eyes. They’d never stood this close to each other before, and she felt dizzy. “You sure know the way to a girl’s heart.”

She was sure she could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and she realized she hadn’t said it back. “I love you, too,” she said. “You are, without a doubt, the _best_ person I know, and to think that you only came into my life because of a series of unlikely coincidences...I’m so lucky.”

She looked into his eyes, and he smiled at her and leaned in, and she gasped, because—it was finally going to happen, wasn’t it?

Clint slid his hand up her back and cupped her jaw. “Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” she said back, playing with the soft hairs at the back of his neck.

He touched her lower lip with his thumb, and then their mouths met. His lips were soft and warm, and he stroked her jawline with his fingers as she learned the shape of his mouth. They stood with their bodies pressed together, arms around each other, even after the kiss ended.

“Wow,” Bobbi said, letting out a relieved laugh. “That was some kind of first kiss.”

“That was some kind of kiss, period.”

“Yeah.” She took a few deep breaths, trying to get her heart rate back to normal. When she thought it was safe, she looked back at him. “So, uh, I don’t know if you know, but there’s actually a party going on downstairs.”

“Oh, really?” he said, smirking. “What’s it for?”

“It’s for my first kiss,” she retorted.

He laughed. “Is there cake?”

“Actually, I have no idea.” She took a step back and slipped her hand into his. “Let’s go and find out.”


	21. Blow Out the Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

Sunday afternoon, the day after they officially became a couple, Bobbi went over to Clint’s place to hang out and to meet his mother.

She walked through the hallway and up to the door. Memories of the last time she’d stood at this door, the aftermath of the party where everything fell apart, flashed through her head, but she shook it off. This time, there was nothing to be afraid of. They didn't have roles to play or facades to keep up, and they had already gotten all of their insecurities out of the way the night before. What a relief it was to finally be completely open with each other.

Clint opened the door, a giddy smile on his face that reflected how she felt. “Hey,” he said, reaching his hand out to hers. She wove her fingers through his and allowed him to lead her inside. Looking around at the apartment, it seemed so different from the last time she’d been inside, though everything looked the same. Knowing the story behind it, knowing how much love had gotten the Bartons to this place, made her see it with fresh eyes.

“Mom, this is Bobbi.”

Clint’s mother looked like she had in Bobbi’s imagination—a tough woman who had made it through hell and left the devil behind. Bobbi panicked for a second, wondering what this woman who had sacrificed so much to give her sons a better life thought about a girl who’d pretended to date her youngest for money.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Barton,” Bobbi said.

“It’s great to meet you,” his mother said. “I’ve heard so much about you from Clint.”

“All right, then,” Clint said. “We’ll be in my room.”

“Door open.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She brought her laptop out and put on a sitcom, something where they could alternate between watching and talking. They lay down on their stomachs next to each other on the bed as the show started.

“My mom wants you to come for dinner,” she said.

“Tonight?”

She nodded.

“Okay.”

They watched for a few minutes, but then he shook his head. “No good, sorry. The sound doesn’t really go well with the hearing aids.” He reached for a notebook on the desk nearby, then sat up and wrote something inside while Bobbi paused the video. “I need to take notes for my next appointment so the doctor can fine-tune it.”

“Are they going to give you a different prescription?” Bobbi asked.

“Nah, it doesn’t work that way. Hearing aids are more like computers—they can be programmed and stuff.” 

“Oh.” She took a good look at the device, something she hadn’t done yet. “Do they press against your ears? I used to have a pair of glasses that pressed against my ears, and whenever I would take them off, I had to rub my ears for a few minutes to make the soreness go away. I’m sorry—I keep bringing up glasses. It’s my only frame of reference.”

“It’s okay,” Clint assured her. “It’s new for me, too.” He pointed toward the computer. “You gonna turn that back on?”

“I thought the sound was no good?” Bobbi said, but she unpaused the show.

He reached behind his ears and fiddled with something. “It _is_ no good. I’m turning these off. That—” he pointed at the computer, “—is just a cover.” He winked.

Bobbi glanced at the open door, then grinned and reached for him.

When the episode ended, they went out to the living room and spent some time with Clint’s mom, who was lovely and friendly and didn’t mention the way Bobbi and Clint had met at all. Late in the afternoon, they decided to head to Bobbi’s place so that there would be time to help with dinner. As Clint opened the door to go, they bumped into Barney, on his way inside. Barney glanced between the two of them.

“Hey,” Clint said.

“Hi,” Bobbi added.

Barney nodded, but he didn’t say anything to either of them.

“Well, that wasn’t awkward at all,” Bobbi said once they were outside.

“I know. I’m sorry. He...” Clint’s voice trailed off, and after a few seconds, he continued, “I’m working on him. He’ll come around, I promise.”

Bobbi frowned, hearing echoes of the conversation they’d had a few weeks ago where Clint had blamed himself over Will’s vandalism. She loved that he had such a strong sense of responsibility, but taking so much stress and blame upon himself couldn’t be healthy. “No, don’t promise,” she said, taking his hand. “It’s not your problem. I love you, he loves you, and that’s enough of a start. I’ll make my own way with your brother. Okay?”

He nodded. “Okay.” He pulled her in for a quick hug and whispered, “Thank you,” into her ear, and they headed toward her car.

\--

The news was all over school Monday morning. Elton Healey’s little brother Alvin had gone to the principal and corroborated Bobbi’s claims, saying that he’d overheard his brother and Wendy Conrad talking about what they’d done. Put together with what Max Coleridge had heard by the lockers, what Clint said about the day they’d all visited him at the sandwich shop, and finally, Bobbi and Clint’s coming clean to the faculty with the entire truth about the deal, it all made for a pretty damning case against Cross and his friends. Word was, they were facing expulsion.

At lunch, the new patchwork group of friends ate together. Bobbi sat with Clint at the center of the table, surrounded by their friends, who were all discussing the latest updates to the story.

“I can’t believe you guys were lying to us all this time,” Jen said, shaking her head.

Bobbi raised an eyebrow. “Lying to you? I didn’t even _know_ you.”

“Hey, we were friends by proxy,” Jen insisted, prompting Hank to cough the word “ _revisionist_ ” into his hand. She cocked her head to the side, giving him a stern look. In response, he pasted an innocent smile on his face and took some fries off of her tray.

“I think it’s cool,” Wanda said. “Going undercover to take down the school bullies.”

“I actually kind of feel bad for them,” Tony said.

“You _what_?” Jen demanded in a scandalized tone.

Tony nonchalantly took a sip of his drink, making sure that all eyes were on him before clarifying, “It’s just, they had no idea they were dealing with such pros.” He smirked. “They never saw it coming.”

“You two should hire yourselves out,” Greer suggested. “Barton and Morse: High School Mercenaries.”

“I’d watch that show,” Jan said.

Clint turned to Bobbi. “We do make a good team, don’t we?”

“I’d say so,” she agreed, shifting closer and snuggling into him. “We had pretty good backup, though.” She looked at Jen and Greer. “Did I ever thank you guys for coming to my defense like that in Dr. Carter’s office?”

“It was our pleasure,” Jen said. “Next time, though, I want to do the punching.”

Bobbi nodded. “Deal.”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading until the end; I hope you enjoyed the story! I love hearing from readers, so please leave your thoughts in the comments section or find me [on Tumblr](https://ootcs.tumblr.com).
> 
> If you liked this fic, rest assured that I have an idea for a sequel, although I’m not sure when I’ll get a chance to start working on it. In the meantime, feel free to check out [my other fics](http://archiveofourown.org/users/one_of_those_crushing_scenes/works/).


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